Adagio
by danceoftheheart
Summary: This is the much requested sequel to my "At Seventeen" series. It takes up directly from where the other left off.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: For those of you that asked, here it is: the beginning of GSR…at least the way I see it. This series takes up directly where At Seventeen left off. Enjoy

Adagio Part I

I have such rich, multi-sensual memories of that first little meeting over coffee.

I can remember how quiet it was; there were just us, the barista and one other couple. Soft, bluesy jazz lilting from the sound system. Quiet, almost whispered conversation.

The smells are embedded so deeply, I can call them up at will. Sweetly scented coffee mixed with the leather of the deep armchairs we sprawled in, the spicy but simple scent of his cologne, the hint of fresh baked bread in the air.

The lights were muted and candles glowed from clear glass basins, enhanced by a merrily snapping cedar log in the stone worked fireplace. The blue of his eyes, so deep and clear I lost myself in them time and time again as we spoke. I know I stared. I know he wanted me to.

On the surface, a simple but comfortable setting for a conversation between two virtual strangers but that night it was also served as the setting for my first taste of mature, seductive romance.

Our words were a collection of terms about academics and logic and options, but our bodies spoke another language all together. There were leans, and accidental brushes of skin, and intriguing little smiles coated in blatant curiosity. And more importantly, there was a connection; a humming, throbbing link between us that made the whole evening feel dangerous and other-worldly.

We were the last ones there when the barista told us gently that she was closing. The sense of disappointment I felt staggered me. I stood awkwardly, intending to put on my coat but he was there before me, holding up my jacket so I could slip into it. The gesture was so unexpected it took me a second to gather my bearings and accept his offering. I pulled my ponytail from my collar and reached for my purse. I don't know whose hands were shaking more but simple things like leaving a tip and gathering my book bag seemed quite difficult. We walked to the door and he held it open for me. Such a simple thing really, but it touched me.

We stood there, on the sidewalk, neither one of wanting the evening to end but both of us very uncertain about where things might lead if we continued.

"What hotel are you staying at?" I asked.

"I was staying at the Marriot. But I checked out before I came to speak tonight."

That reminder of his imminent departure practically panicked me. "That's right. Your flight leaves at midnight."

"My things are already in my rental." The regret in his words was obvious.

"Ah. Convenient. Makes it easier."

"Yes, that's what I was thinking when I did it."

We started walking back to the campus. "Are you heading back to the lab?"

"Ah, no," he answered slowly, "Washington, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes. The person I'm subbing for was scheduled for a speaking engagement there as well. It's my last for the year."

I nodded, "And then you'll be heading back to California."

"No again. Sorry. Las Vegas. They've made me a substantial offer and I'm thinking about accepting it."

"You sound excited." I couldn't help being surprised. "What makes it so attractive?"

"A good office. A strong budget. Any emphasis on science and study rather than on paperwork and procedure. They're considered to be in the top ten of forensics laboratories in America. From what I understand they're trying to develop a portfolio strong enough to rival the federal system." His grin on the last part teased me. We'd had quite a debate earlier over the pros and cons of the federal system. He wasn't a fan.

I couldn't help picking up the bait. "What's the point in competing with the federal system? Aren't we all on the same side when the day is done?"

He laughed but not unkindly. "Sara, surely you've been exposed to the ugly truth involving science and politics."

I inclined my head. "Cynics believe that one cannot exist in today's world without the other. I'm surprised you buy into that."

"I have no choice but to do so. Research takes time and more importantly money. The funding comes primarily from either the private sector or from government grants. Both sources are motivated by prestige and greed and therefore only fund those programs that they believe will lead them to those rewards. But there is an upside. There are ways around the system if you're creative enough to find them."

"And you have."

"I have. My main passion is entomology but bugs are not considered 'big business' unless someone discovers a new virus or anti-aging serum that pushes them into the limelight. It's a science that those without vision see as being as useful as studying 'dead languages'. However, by applying bug timelines and regression theories to our current advances in DNA we create a new means of scientific application which is both quantifiable and accountable. Entomology is suddenly at the forefront of new technologies in solving crimes and therefore is a very hot commodity."

Conceding his point, I asked, "Why are you leaving the California lab? I thought they were one of the hottest labs going."

"Yes, currently they're ranked at number three in the country but my career interests are moving in a different direction than the one they want me to take. There's a lot of pressure for me to take on more of a supervisory role and I'm not willing to sacrifice my lecture circuit or my research time to pushing paper around. Vegas sounds much more appealing."

I wrinkled my nose. "It's a choice that wouldn't be mine."

"And your reasoning?"

"Seems a little…plastic, if you know what I mean. There would have to be some incentive that I found irresistible to get me to relocate there. It's just not me."

"No, I can see that." We'd reached the parking lot where he'd left his car. "This is me." He walked around to the driver's side door and tossed his briefcase in the back then came back around to my side.

"So…"

"So…?"

"I guess this is good-bye then."

"For tonight, yes. Seems so. I enjoyed our conversation."

"Me too. Reminds me of old times at college."

"Well, anytime you want to pick up where we've left off…you've got my number. Give me a call."

"Same goes." We stared at each other hard then, both of us obviously loath to say good-bye but both of us knowing that that was exactly what was coming next. Trying to gain a little self-control, I held out my hand. "Thank-you for making time for me."

He took it in a gentle but firm clasp. "My pleasure."

I remember we held hands a little longer than was polite. I know we stood closer than we probably should have. I remember feeling just miserable when our hands finally lost touch so it was little wonder that my heart jumped into my throat when he called my name after I'd turned to walk away.

"Sara?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a ride home?"


	2. Chapter 2

Adagio Part II

It was starting to rain when we pulled up in front of my apartment building; a soft rain sweetend by fresh foliage and balmy temperatures. Fog swirled elegantly, all mystery and romance, as we made our way down dappled streets.

The ride was short. The conversation was minimal. He parked and walked me to my door.

I remember hesitating in the process of searching for my keys, very aware of how close he was standing to me. I lifted my head and for a second there was an awareness that flashed between us stronger than anything I'd ever felt. Our faces were so close…our positions so tight that it was only natural that we should lean in…only natural that…

I drop my keys.

The clatter made me jerk, almost clipping his chin in the process. I must have looked like an owl. I remember feeling all wide-eyed and startled and frankly, he hadn't fared much better. Whatever it was that had held us in thrall was banished by the rattle of metal against the tile floor.

We both reached for them at the same time and gracelessly bonked heads in the process. He was instantly contrite and all full of apologies but the humor of the situation had me giggling madly and I waved him off. "It takes more than that to put me out, Grissom."

He chuckled along with me, bent and this time successfully managed to retieve my keys. "Which one is it?" he asked.

"The one with the yellow casing."

He deftly inserted it into my lock and with a solid twist, opened my door. "There you go." He handed me back my keyring.

"Thanks. You know, it's only nine o'clock. Why don't you come in until you have to go to the airport. We haven't really had dinner. I'm sure I've got some pasta." A quick glance in his direction told me that he wasn't at all comfortable with that suggestion. "You know, it's okay. Maybe that was a little presumptious. I'm sure you want a chance to unwind before your flight and I've certainly taken up enough of your time tonight. Raincheck?"

"No," he blurted.

His response shocked me with its intensity. "No?"

"I mean…a raincheck would be fine, if I wanted one but I'd like to come in. Pasta sounds great." He looked at me anxiously, obviously worried that he'd offended me.

"Oh. Okay. Good. Good." I reached to my side and flicked on my hall lights. "Come on in. Living room's to the right, bathroom and bedroom to the left. Food's just through here."

He removed his shoes and followed me into the galley-style kitchen. "What can I do to help?"

Resisting the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, I stepped casually away from him and opened the refrigerator. "Hmm, um, salad?"

"Sure. Just point me in the right direction."

He was close behind me again and I shivered as his breath teased the back of my neck. "Right. Veggies in the crisper…I eat almost anything from there, but you can pick and choose." I ducked into the cupboard behind me and pulled out a cutting board and a decent knife. "There that should be everything, oh, wait, dressing!" I swung back to the icebox and located three choices. "Will one of these work?"

"Yes," He said simply not looking at the labels.

I know I was blushing but I was grinning too. "Which one?"

"What?"

"Which dressing?"

"Oh. Italian."

"Italian it is then." I pushed the bottle into his hands and edged my way around him. While he busied himself with the fresh ingrediants, I boiled water, added tortalini and simmered a package of alfredo sauce. Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? But in that small kitchen, we couldn't help the occassional brushes of our hands or shoulders or bodies as we reached for supplies. We couldn't help smiling in aplology even as our conversation about food likes and dislikes floated in the air. I don't know about him but I was so relieved when the timer went off to signal that everything was finished. I wasn't sure how much more my mind and body could have taken.

We sat down at the tiny glass topped dining set outside my galley and dug in. It was a ordinary meal but it was fresh and tasty and that, topped with a bottle of wine I'd rescued from the recesses of my cabinets, was good enough for us.

At one point during dinner, I sat back, a glass of wine swirling thoughtfully in my hand and contemplated the strange turn my life had taken in the last couple of hours. I was sitting in my apartment, with a virtual stranger trying to subdue the mind-numbing urge to show him where my bedroom was and…and…well, that was the question, now wasn't it? And what? The analyticial side of my brain started to take over and I was flooded with questions. What was I thinking. There was no future here…no tomorrow. Did I care about that? Did he? This was new territory for me. I was close to breaking every rule in my survival guide. That alone was either stupid or desperate and I was neither. Time to put on the breaks.

Proud of myself for gaining some measure of perspective, I looked up and found him watching me with a curious little half smile on his lips and every good intention I'd ever had just flew out the window. Just as I was about to say something totally outrageous he tilted his head to the coffee table and asked, "Is that chess board just for decoration or do you play?" The tease was evident but so was the challenge.

"Oh, I don't play," I told him. "Playing is for children. Generally, I win." I curled my lips softly, letting him know I was only half serious.

"Let's have a game then."

" Sounds great. But your flight…it's getting late."

"I'll make time."


	3. Chapter 3

_Adagio_

_Part III_

The night was chilled with rain. I turned on the gas fireplace so we could be comfortable. I'd brewed coffee while he set up the board and it wasn't long before we were seated casually across from each other and deep into a game.

I cannot tell a lie. I'm a good chess player. Actually, I'm an excellent chess player. I'm way better now than I was then but still, I had had my share of wins against some pretty tough players. I have a great memory for the board and an excellent progression of thought concerning the consequences of moves and the eventual outcome of the game. Too bad little of those talents came through that night.

Yes, I'm good. I'm very good. Good enough to know when I've lost the game before it has really even begun; which I had. Good enough to know when I've been outmatched; which I was.

I was good, but Grissom was better. About five moves in I knew I was going to loose that round. He'd set up my knight for a fall and from the position of our pieces, I could tell my queen was going to be cornered in the next few moves if I couldn't work myself out of that tangle. The fact that he was going to beat me didn't tell me how good a player he was. No, anyone could if they were a decent strategist, though you wouldn't ever catch me saying that out loud. But in Grissom's case, I suppose what tipped me off was the way he was letting the game play out. He didn't want to end it too soon so he wasn't playing all that hard. He'd surprised me a move back and it could have been the end right there but instead he took the long way around to see what I would do.

I debated calling him on it. Really, I've always been the type who'd rather loose honestly than gently at someone's good graces but I was curious to watch him maneuver the pieces. I wanted to see his thought process in action.

Well, okay, some would say I was lying about that but I prefer to see it as telling a half-truth. The strategy issue was there in part, but I'll admit I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to see him in his glasses as long as possible.

He'd taken them out as soon as we sat down and my stomach dropped. I don't know what it is about certain men in glasses but…ahahttttigheysogggggggggggoddd, it just turns me to a puddle of goo! I'd just started watching a new show (you might have heard of it, The X-Files?) and every time Mulder put on those glasses of his I literally went numb…in a good way. Grissom's glasses seemed to have the same damned effect.

I remember thinking that if it was possible, his eyes seemed even bluer than before. That his face lost some of that boyish tone to it and his features seemed more sensual. I know he caught me staring a couple of times and I tried to cover it by pretending to be considering the board. Not sure how well I succeeded because as the game went on a tiny little smile began to play at the corners of his mouth. It got bigger every time he looked into my eyes, which of course only made me want him more.

It was unnerving, it was exciting and worst of all, it was distracting in the extreme. My hand was starting to shake from all of the built up tension so it was no surprise when my hand got clumsy and knocked over several pieces while trying to grab my rook for a play. "Oh, god! I'm sorry!"

He placed a hand over my to gently my flustered movements. "It's okay. Really. I remember where everything was."

I shrugged elegantly, my attention wrapped in the feel of his touch. "So do I but you know you had me. Checkmate would have happened in three moves." When he didn't disagree, my lips twisted into a teasing pout. "You know, you've ruined this game for me."

Not comfortable enough with me to know if I was being serious or not, he decided to go the safer route. "I'm sorry. How did I do that?"

"There aren't many people who can set me up from move one. It was quite a surprise to see it done so efficiently. A first for me."

Knowing I was okay with everything, he returned the compliment. "Aren't many people that can see a set up like that so early."

"If we had more time, I would love to start another round. Maybe this time I won't be so-" I clamped my lips shut, stopping my words before they could reach the air.

"So…what?" His voice had dropped in timber and he leaned across the board into my personal space.

And I fought it. I fought really hard to keep from telling him but the words just had to come out. I needed to know if this thing was just in my head or if he was feeling it as deeply as I was. "Distracted." I let the soft word dribble off my tongue and hang in the air. I don't think I breathed once while waiting for his reaction.

His eyes left mine, falling down to the board and I followed their movement to where our hands lay on the coffee table. His fingers curled under my palm, lifting my hand from the board and letting his thumb stroke smoothly over the bridge of my knuckles. There was such tenderness in that one gesture that I'm sure my heart went into shock when he said, "We can't."

And though I know he was right, I still had to protest, to deny it. "Why not?"

I could see him searching for the right words but in the end he just shook his head sadly and let go of my hand after retuning it to the table. "I'm sorry." He took off his glasses and folded them away in his case and braced his elbows on his knees.

If he'd been anyone else I would have just pinned a smile to my face and passed it off but I couldn't. I needed more. "But you want to."

He actually laughed at my deliberate phrasing. "Yes." His hands knotted thoughtfully under his chin and he regarded me quite seriously. "Very much."

And I had to be satisfied with that. As hard as it was I tried to regain the companionable tone we'd started the night with. "Well, good. As long as we're clear on that." I tipped my head at his watch and gave him another out. "You have a plane to catch."

"I do. Let me help you clean this up."

He started to pitch in but when our hands brushed accidentally, I pulled back with an apologetic grimace. "No. It's good. I've got it." When he looked even more distressed, I raised a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. "Seriously, it's okay." I rubbed his back in a brief soothing motion and gave him a gentle push to straighten. "Let me walk you to the door." I tried to convey silently that I wasn't giving him the bum's rush because he'd rejected my overture but I'm not sure he got it. Still, there was no way to correct that impression just then. We paused at the threshold, him to put on his shoes, me to grab the door handle, and then when he was ready I swung the door open.

"Sara…" he sighed, obviously uncomfortable with the way things were being left, but not sure how to fix them. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome. Thanks for your time." I leaned against the door frame. "If you think of it, call me when you land. Let me know you got there safe." It was something I always said when someone was taking a trip. I didn't expect the reaction I got.

A strange look passed over his features and I got the distinct impression that no one had ever asked him to do that before. His face flushed with pleasure at the thought. "Alright. I will. As soon as I land."

Soon his footsteps carried him away down the hall and I closed the door softly in his wake. I folded my arms, chilled again. I missed him already.

I watched from the window as he crossed the street and opened his car door. He knew I was there. He paused just before getting in, looking up at me and I swear he was having second thoughts but then he just waved and got into the vehicle.

My phone rang forty minutes later, just as I was coming out of the shower. "Hello?"

"Sara…it's-it's Grissom."

It was pathetic. Little tremors of excitement were racing up and down my arms just from the sound of his voice. "Oh. Hi. I thought you'd be on the plane by now."

"Well, yes, so did I. Actually, that's why I'm calling. The airport's fogged in. Nothing's moving in or out for a while. I thought I should call you so you wouldn't worry."

He sounded so uncertain that I hastened to reassure him. "Oh. Thanks. That's very considerate of you. Do they know when you might be able to leave…did they give an estimate?"

"No. Some flights have been cancelled altogether. I'm just waiting to see what they do with mine. It's-wait, something's coming over the PA system now. Just a second."

I heard indistinct mumbling in the background and was pretty sure I heard the word cancelled several times over. When he came back on the line, my suspicions were confirmed.

"Seems I won't make that conference after all."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Actually, sorry was the last thing I was feeling. My mind was already making all kinds of leaps.

"I'm not. I've had enough of living out of a suitcase to do me for a while. Guess I'd better go scare up a hotel room before they're all gone."

"You could-"

"Don't offer, Sara. I'm not sure I could refuse a second time."

I know it was wrong for so many reasons but his words just made me even happier. I pushed my luck. "All the more reason for me to ask."

"You're serious?"

"Yes. More than I've ever been."

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why me? I don't understand…"

"I don't either. But that's why I want you to come back. So I can."

"I'm not sure-"

"No, neither am I. But ever since I saw you that first time at Harvard…it's not something I can ignore…pretend that it doesn't exist."

There was a pause and I know he was running out of things to say. "Okay, then I'll-" he broke off, another announcement catching his attention. There was a growl of some sorts before his voice filtered through again. "Sara, I'm sorry. They've just recalled my flight."

"Oh. Really? Wow. Never heard them do that before."

"Sounds like there was some kind of mistake. They're letting planes take off, just not letting them land. But my gate has been switched. I have to trek halfway down the airport if I'm going to make it."

"Then you'd better hurry or you'll miss it."

Another pause. "And what if I decide I should miss it? On purpose."

"Well, then I'd assume you were still up for coming back to my apartment. But that's up to you. We're okay either way."

"Is that the truth? You're sure?"

"Yes, at least about that. Maybe having your flight recalled is a sign."

"You believe in that sort of thing?"

"No, but it's easier to look at things that way than it is to play the odds in this situation."

He sighed, frustration clear in his tone. "Maybe you're right. I'll call you when I land."

Knowing it was better this way I teased, "Yes, I'm sure you will. Good-bye, Griss."

"Good-bye."


	4. Chapter 4

Adagio

Part IV

_I don't know where to find you  
I don't know how to reach you  
I hear your voice in the wind  
I feel you under my skin  
Within my heart and my soul  
I wait for you…Adagio_

He kept his promise to call when he landed. I was hoping he would but hadn't let myself think about it too much. It was a very short call. He was running to get a cab. We said hello and good-bye and the whole call might have lasted five minutes. I went to bed but didn't sleep much at all that night.

The next day I got up, had breakfast, ran three miles, and picked up my mail. Spent two hours at the lab checking on a project I was doing for my thesis and went to the grocery store. Pretty normal stuff for a Saturday in my life. My step mother called and we caught up. Her sister was pregnant and due any minute so I checked in almost daily to see if there were any new developments. She told me about the news from home and I told her about the possibility of me changing careers. I'm not sure she was all that thrilled but she liked the scientific applications.

Five o'clock came and went.

Supper was a salad and a plate of nachos. I ate half of it before I gave up and put it back in the fridge.

Time seemed to stretch to the point where I swear I could feel each second pass. I was constantly looking at my watch or the clock. The quiet of my apartment that I usually found so soothing was grating on my nerves. I switched on the stereo just to fill the space with sound.

I had a standing invitation for a games night with friends but I knew I was too restless to enjoy it so I stayed home and tried to read. I gave that up after twenty minutes of trying and clicked through endless channels on my television. Nothing interested me. Nothing settled me. Somewhere around eight thirty I decided to take a bath.

And there in the bubbles, I allowed myself to do the one thing I'd tried to avoid the whole day. I let myself think about him. I thought about his smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughed. I thought about his jokes, even the ones that only he thought were funny. I replayed entire sections of conversation from our dinner together in my mind. I thought about the way his fingers caressed the chess pieces while he was deciding which one to move. I closed my eyes and just let myself drift.

The following night he called again. That call surprised me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang and when I heard his voice my throat went dry. "Grissom! Hi. I didn't expect to hear from you again so soon."

"I'm sure you didn't."

"Where are you?"

"At the airport. I got here early. Just thinking…just thought…I don't know, thought I'd call. We didn't have much of a chance to speak yesterday."

A wide grin split my face. I could hear the nervousness in his voice. It was really sweet. "No. No, we didn't. So how did the conference go?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. I got a few laughs, lots of groans. A couple of people left the room."

"When you brought out the pig, right?"

"Exactly." His voice was rough with pleasure.

"Then I'd say it was a success."

"Yes."

"And so now you're done?"

"Yes. I'm heading home to pack. I'll spend Easter with my mother and her family and then I'll be starting in Las Vegas May 1st."

I clicked my tongue at that. "Slot machines, plastic people and too much glitz."

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" His voice was dry and definitely amused.

"Actually…no."

"I'm not saying you're wrong but you've got to check things out for yourself before you make that judgment, don't you?"

"Yes, Dr. Grissom. I suppose." If his tone was dry mine was dust. "Do you have a place yet?"

"No. I'm doing the motel by the week thing for the first month until I decide whether or not I'll stay. I want to get the feel of the city and of the lab before I commit."

"I see. Smart."

"Yes. So how was your day?"

"I was on shift at the forensics lab. Just got home actually."

"Anything interesting."

"As a matter of fact, yes. I had to compare fibers from fabrics dated fifty years apart to see if the blood stains on them were from the same donor."

"And were they?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. At least as near as anyone can tell."

I could almost see him leaning against the bank of public phones with his hand in his pocket, settling into the conversation. "So…what happened?"

"The way I see it, the killer moved the murder weapon from one hiding place to another, thus creating the transfer. He must have kept the thing knife in a plastic bag because some of the blood must not have dried completely before he did it."

"Sounds like a reasonable theory."

I preened at his comment. "Thanks. I thought so."

There was a brief pause and then he said, "Sara, I was thinking."

"Good thoughts or bad?"

"Truth?"

"Always."

"A bit of both. But in this case only good. I was thinking that, I don't know when we might be able to have another game of chess face to face. It might be…no, never mind. It sounds a little geeky even for me."

"Griss, it's okay. Go on."

"I don't know. I just wondered if you wanted to play long distance."

"You mean like phone in our moves?"

"Told you it sounded stupid."

"No. No, it sounds fun. People used to do it by letter, right? Phone's much better. I'm totally up for a rematch. Do you need a board in front of you or can we start now?"

"Now is fine with me. Your move."

A/N: Lyrics for i Adagio /i by Lara Fabian used without permission


	5. Chapter 5

Adagio

Part V

I walked into my apartment, soaked to the skin, fed up with the world and everything in it.

I'd decided not to take my car this morning. I always preferred to bike whenever I could and the weather report had sounded just right this morning to accommodate that. I knew there was a nip to the air but I was in a hurry and…well…I should have known better. The forecast of warm breezes and sunny skies suddenly converted to a thunderstorm warning by mid afternoon with high winds right at the time I was due to head home. Perfect end to a horrible day.

I was absolutely frozen so I jumped into the shower and turned the heat on full blast, practically scalding myself in the process but at least I was finally warm. As the water sluiced over my now flushed skin I retraced the steps of my day, trying to figure out if there had been any way to head off the problems that had hit me from the moment I'd woken up.

Well, I was going to make sure I triple checked the alarm tonight. We'd had a power outage the day before and I guess when I reset my clock I failed to sync it to the 'pm' setting. That was a good way to start the morning, I thought with a groan; an hour and a half later than I planned. Well, it was partially Grissom's fault, a fact that made me smile at the thought of it. Most mornings I didn't need an alarm. My internal clock is pretty accurate and I don't vary much from my weekday schedule on the weekends unless I have a late night. This morning however, my inner clock must have been out of whack because I was up until two am trying to figure my way out of a trap on the board. Grissom had me cornered but good until I realized I'd seen a board set up like ours somewhere before. It took a while but I was finally able to place it and figure out the natural counter move. I could hardly wait to let him know I'd managed to wriggle away from his check, but he wasn't supposed to be home until after eight this evening so I guess I would have to find something to fill in the time until then.

Maybe yoga. I'd missed my morning stretch, racing to make up for lost time. Oh, and I needed to eat too. I'd had a yogurt, a bag of chips and so many cups of coffee, I'd lost count by the time I left the lab. I needed something substantial with protein in a big way. Hope I had food. I was having a hard time remembering when I'd last hit the grocery store. Hmmm…well, there was always delivery.

Delivery. The very thought of the word made me choke out an irritated growl. I'd covered for another lab technician this morning; she had just had her first child and she needed a morning for some personal errands. I didn't mind doing it and the money was always useful, but she failed to mention that she was expecting an important, time-sensitive delivery from the Federal lab and that the lab director was expecting a report on said materials ASAP. Needless to say, I was a little surprised when Cheridan Martin burst into my lab and started yelling at me about a report that I knew absolutely nothing about. I tried to explain a couple of times that I wasn't the person she'd spoken to the day before but she was primed for a confrontation and I eventually just stood there with my arms crossed and let it run its course. Her anger didn't faze me. I'd seen much worse and frankly, could top her by a mile when my temper went off, so she was lucky I was honestly too tired to bother defending myself.

I stood there for twelve minutes and thirty-six seconds (yes, I timed her by the wall clock…what else did I have to do?) while she went on about sloppy procedures and incompetence and the importance of communication between the various departments in the building. Then, when she took a breath, I calmly told her that I wasn't who she thought I was and that there hadn't been any deliveries to this part of the lab this morning. If she could locate the package, I would be glad to perform whatever operation or test that she required but I could hardly examine something that wasn't there. She actually glared at me, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. She reminded me of that bull in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. It was all I could do not to laugh. She must have sensed I was amused because she asked me if I thought this situation was funny. Oh I was tempted rip her a new one but I just shook my head and suggested she let me get back to what I was doing. She was a little pissed off by my casual response. When I turned back to my sample she shut off my microscope and told me that we would get to the bottom of this before I continued with anything else that morning. To add insult to injury, she spun on her heel at that, snapping over her shoulder that it was probably at reception and that I should have checked with them as I walked in this morning. "That was lab procedure after all," she sniped.

I didn't waste my breath telling her that I had, as procedure called for, checked the cue for deliveries and priorities the minute I entered the lab that morning. Instead, I followed her out of the lab as she fired down the hall to rant at the on-duty lab manager, Becky Erikson. When Becky swore up and down that nothing had come in from the Federal lab, Martin blew a gasket. There was no evidence of the professional demeanor she, Martin, was so famous for. She accused everyone within earshot of incompetence and then stalked off to her office and slammed her door.

An hour later, a phone call came into the switchboard from the Federal lab. The package that Martin had been expecting had gone missing in transport. The delivery service was trying to locate it but up to that time, had had little luck in doing so. Becky made a special point of stopping by my office to update me on the situation. I didn't see Martin for the rest of the day.

Neither did anyone else.

I spent the afternoon working on my thesis project. While it was true that there were plenty of labs available at the university, I'd requested space at the police lab to work there so that it was easier to coordinate my work with my school commitment. Science was often a 'hurry up and wait business'. You could only go as far as current technology allowed you to. Computers and machinery were extraordinarily helpful but they still took time to process and diagnose. Like most technicians, I was able to jump from one project to another so that 'down time' between stages of discovery was used profitably. My supervisor had welcomed the idea of me moving my thesis work to the police lab because it meant he had another set of hands available when we hit crunches of evidence examination. This afternoon was one of those times. I was kept quite busy so that I didn't even realize shift was over until my feet started to ache around six o'clock. I'd been hoping for a slow day because I'd hit a snag in my theory and really had needed to concentrate on it for a couple of hours to figure out why I was getting the results I was getting but that was just not in the cards. So, despite the successes I had in my crime lab work, I was left with a feeling of frustration and futility in not having made any progress whatsoever in my personal work.

"Uggghhhh," I groused, dropping my head against the tiles under the spray. Maybe Grissom might have an idea. Theoretical Physics wasn't exactly his forte but he might have an idea about why my chemical reactions were skewed against my proposed results. I'd have to remember to speak to him about it when I called later.

The water was starting to turn cold. I gave into the inevitable and turned it off and then stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom. The tile floor was icy and I minced my way into my bedroom, grabbing my robe as I went. The thunderstorm was still raging and I closed the curtains against it. I hated thunderstorms. Always had. Especially when they happened late at night. I can remember as a child waking to the lightning and the booming thunder, trying to figure out whether or not my birth parents were fighting or if the noise was coming from outside. In my dreams I often confused the two. Sometimes, I still did.

I picked up the bedroom handset, checking the extension for a dial tone. Yep, still good. With any luck, it would continue to be so until I spoke to him. I really needed a nice conversation with Grissom that night.

I waited until ten minutes past eight and then dialed his number. There was no answer. I wasn't surprised. This had happened more than one over the last couple of months. I waited for his machine to kick in and left a message. "Hey, it's Sara. Sorry. I guess you're not home yet. I can't wait to tell you how clever I am for figuring my way out of the trap you set. I owe you for a good two hours of lost sleep last night and I'm going to collect. Call me when you can." I hung up, disappointed but still in good spirits. There was plenty of night left. He always called when we set a time…even if he was caught at the lab. So did I. No biggie.

I decided to give myself a long overdue manicure. Eight thirty hit. The manicure expanded to include a pedicure. Hmmm. Ten after nine. Still no call. By the time I swabbed my toes with clear varnish, ten oh two was showing on my watch. I pushed the tiny brush into the bottle and screwed the lid on tightly, debating if I should call again, or just leave things sit for a while longer.

Okay, well maybe it was stupid but I was starting to worry. I know people get busy but, I don't know, I had a bad feeling about the fact that he hadn't called. It was silly, because there had been times when he'd been later calling than this but…there was a sense of anxiety building in my stomach that I was having a hard time ignoring. I'd learned a long time ago that it was important to trust my gut reaction to things even if there was nothing obvious to make me react that way.

I placed the polish on the table. I sat for a minute staring at it then I picked up the phone and dialed again. One ring. Two rings. A connection. I was so relieved I started talking before he did. "Oh good. You're home. I was…well…I know this is going to sound silly but I was worried-"

"Who is this?"

The masculine voice that cut over mine stopped my words mid-breath. "Um…Sara…uh, who's this?"

"Sara who?" The response was abrupt and not a little impatient.

"I…don't feel comfortable giving that information to someone I don't know. Look, have I got the right number? I was calling for Gil Grissom. He's a friend of mine."

"Yes. This is Grissom's number."

"Good. Can I speak with him, please?"

"No. He's not able to take a call right now."

The anxiety in my stomach trebled. "Why not?"

"Look, I'm not really at liberty to discuss-"

"Is he okay?" There was a pause while the voice at the other end tried to figure out just what he could say. "Look, I'm a friend. He was supposed to call me around eight. I left a message earlier but when he didn't call me back I was worried and tried again. Please. Is he okay?"

"You said your name was Sara, right?"

"Yes."

"I think he's mentioned you in passing. You play chess."

Was it wrong to feel a little thrill of excitement at the fact that I'd been mentioned to someone he works with? Maybe. I didn't really care at the moment. My emotions were a little high with worry. "Yes. That's me. And you are?"

"I'm Conrad Ecklie. I was with him when he got injured tonight."

"What? He's hurt? How badly?"

I suppose the desperation in my voice triggered some kind of sympathetic response in Conrad Ecklie because he told me what I needed to know. "You know he works with the crime lab, right?"

"Yes, of course. So do I…well, here at this one anyway. That's how we met."

"Yes. Okay, I think I followed that. We took a call. Surprised a burglar. He tried to take Gil's head off with a lead pipe. Lucky for Gil the other guy had really bad aim. He got a good knock but at least the pipe didn't crack his skull. We just got back from the hospital. He's resting."

"So, he's okay, then? They sent him home because it wasn't that bad?"

"He's got a second degree concussion but they believe that he's going to be fine. He's got a hell of a headache and I don't think I'll be seeing him at the lab for a good week or more." There was a tired grunt from the man on the other line. "I'm just hanging out until we can get a home-care aid to help him out. He's not supposed to be alone for the next while. I'm probably stuck here all night. Stupid asshole."

"What?"

"I meant the crook, not Gil." Another pause. "I don't suppose you're able to come over to stay with him?"

"I don't know. I'm at Berkley right now. Um. I'd have to see…" I stopped myself, hardly believing I was considering taking off to Vegas but I was. I was. "There's no one he can call?"

"I don't know. Gil's a little private when it comes to his personal life. I just work with the guy. Sorry. That sounded callous. It's been a long shift for everyone. My wife's been complaining about how much time I'm spending at the lab. She won't like this at all."

"Tell her she's lucky it wasn't you that got hurt and that might take a little of the heat off," I replied, thinking furiously about what I'd have to do make things work. "Look, let me call you back in a few minutes. I'll see if I can get someone to cover my shifts at the lab. If I can, I'll take the next available flight."

"That would be the best news I've had all day. I'll be waiting."

I disconnected with Ecklie and called my lab.

It was surprisingly easy for me to get away. I arranged for time off, let my mother know where I was heading and made it to the airport in time to catch the one am flight to Vegas. A taxi brought me to Grissom's condo and before long I was standing on the threshold, knocking at the door.

A tall man, dark hair and tired eyes, opened the door. He took a second, sizing me up, and then quirked a grin at me. "So, you're Sara."

I didn't know what to make of him, or his expression. "Yes." I held out a hand. "Sara Sidle. Conrad?"

"Yes." He took my hand and gave it a light shake. "Come on in." He still had that peculiar twist to his mouth.

I decided not to let it go. "What?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. You're, ah, you're just not what I was expecting."

"Oh." I wasn't sure how to take his comment but I had other things on my mind. "Looks like you got a bit of a beating too."

"Yeah. We grappled." Ecklie was sporting a hell of a shiner on his left cheek and from the condition of his shirt, I guessed he had a few scrapes and bruised under there too. "I'm fine."

"Good. How's Grissom?"

"I checked on him just before you knocked. Everything seems to be stable…at least as far as I can tell." He led me to the breakfast bar where several bottle sat and instructions were listed. "I had some time so I wrote out the care plan the doctor outlined. If there's any of these symptoms: vomiting…loss of eyesight or hearing…anything from this list, you're supposed to bring him back to emergency so they can make sure he's okay. I noted his last medication times. He's due for another dose in an hour. He's supposed to be checked on every hour for the next twenty-four. Just shake him awake and make sure he's responsive and lucid. This bottle here is for when his headache spikes. He's allowed one of these every two hours but no more. In fact, the doctor wanted to avoid them altogether if possible unless he's in deep pain. They can be addictive."

Wondering if I was ready for what I was about to do, I nodded at the instructions and took a look around. There was lots of soup and bottled water, some bread and frozen dinners, even some vegetables and fruit. Grissom's kitchen was much better stocked than mine. "I'll watch out for that," I told Ecklie in reference to the pills. "I think I have everything I need for the next little while. Oh, um…where's the bedroom?"

"You haven't been here before?"

"No. He just bought the place. I think he was living in a hotel until a couple of weeks ago."

"Right. Forgot about that. Bedroom's upstairs and to your right. Guest room down the hall to the left." He looked me in the eyes when he mentioned the guest room and I finally clued into what that expression had meant.

He was trying to figure out how intimate we were…how close. I almost laughed at his not so subtle inference. "Perfect. Close enough to hear him if he needs help. I'll set my alarm on the hour and try to get some sleep in between. Sleep. Hmmm. Looks like you could use some yourself. Thanks for helping him out. I'll be sure to let him know what a good friend you were to him."

He waved off my comment. "Thanks for coming. I'll call tomorrow to see how things are going."

"Great. I'd appreciate it." I walked him to the door, said goodnight and locked it behind him. For a minute, I just stood there, my back against the panel, absorbing everything that had happened and then I went upstairs.

I opened the door to Grissom's bedroom and took a peek inside. Grissom was lying there in the middle of a kingsized bed, very still and very quiet. I walked over to the edge to look down at him. White bandages wrapped his forehead, bruises coated his cheeks, and his skin held a sweaty, uneven pallor. He didn't look at all like the vital man I'd had coffee with after the lecture a couple of months ago. My hand reached out to touch his shoulder and I leaned in to speak softly. "Griss? Can you hear me?"

"Sara?"

"Yes. It's me. How are you feeling?'

"Head hurts. Light burns my eyes."

"Yes. I know. I can't give you anything for it just yet." I rubbed his shoulder gently. "I just wanted you to know that I was here and if you need anything I'm only a room away." I straightened and began to pull back, but he caught me weakly, his hand catching mine.

"Sara?"

"Yes?"

"Am I hallucinating or are you really here?"

I squeezed his palm to reassure him. "I'm here alright. Surprise."

He pried his eyes open to look at me, nodded and then let them close again. "If I go back to sleep will you still be here when I wake up?"

Inordinately touched, I nodded. "Yes."

"'Kay. Good." He released my hand and I could see the tension leave his frame as he slipped back into a light doze.

He was so still and so pale that I didn't feel comfortable about leaving his side, even if it was only to go down the hall. I looked around the room and spying an armchair in the corner next to a chess game in progress, settled into it, remembering to set the alarm on my watch. I was careful not to disturb the board. It made me smile to think of him sitting in the very spot I currently occupied, the cordless phone in his hand and mug of coffee at his elbow considering the board while we spoke. I committed it to memory so I could picture it every time we called.

I leaned back, realizing that the chair was a recliner and folded my hands across my stomach. My eyes tracked the rise and fall of his chest, my ears listened for the even flow of his breath, and it was only after several minutes of the same that I let myself relax and close my eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Adagio

Part VI

Sleep was hard to come by. I just couldn't get settled. I was too conscious of Grissom's breathing and movements to relax. Any change brought me to full alert so eventually I gave up trying to doze and just lay there in the dark, thinking.

I was still having a hard time dealing with the fact that I'd jumped on a plane to come to the aid of a man that for all intents and purposes I had only a passing acquaintance with. Yet here I was. I'm not sure whether that made me stupid or desperate but I couldn't shake the feeling of knowing that this was where I was supposed to be. That there was a reason it was so easy to arrange my life to suit his needs. Well, whatever that reason was, I decided to make my peace with it. Grissom had seemed happy enough to see me. I suppose that made it all worthwhile.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when my watch alarm sounded. I had managed to close my eyes for a moment so at first, I didn't realize why it was going off. When my brain finally caught on, I hauled myself out of the chair and hustled to the kitchen to grab Grissom's meds. I also filled and flicked on the coffee maker. Caffeine was going to become a constant friend if I was going to get through the next couple of days.

I gathered the various bottles and a tall glass of water but before I could get back up the stairs, the doorbell rung. "Just a minute," I called out, not worrying about waking Grissom since I was about to do it anyway and put my load back onto the counter. I strode to the door thinking it was a bit early for a visitor but answered it all the same. "Who is it?"

"Jim Brass. I work with Grissom at LVPD. Want me to flash my badge?"

I opened the door a crack, taking in the other man's measure. He had an easy smile and a casual stance that suited his slight New York accent to a 'T'. I returned his smile and then opened it a little wider. "No. I can see 'cop' written all over you."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hope that's because you work with us and not run from us."

"I'm surrounded by you guys day and night. I'm a lab tech in the CSI division back home. Have been for years. Just getting off shift?"

"Yes. Worked a double but thought I'd stop by to see how Gil was doing before I went home."

"Come in. I'm Sara, by the way. Listen, I was just about to give Grissom his meds. Can you hang out for a moment? I'll be right back. Coffee's on. Help yourself to a cup."

"Will do."

Arms full once more, I hustled up the steps and into the darkened interior of Grissom's bedroom. Placing them on the bedside table, I leaned over and whispered, "Griss? Grissom? Can you hear me?"

His response was a grunt.

"Okay, I'll take that as a yes. Can you sit up? It's time to take some pills."

With what I could see was a tremendous effort, he rolled flat onto his back and opened his eyes. "Sara, if you can make this pounding stop, I will do anything you want me to." He tried to smile at me but it didn't quite make it.

"Wow. That's quite an offer," I teased. "Too bad you're in no condition to follow through." The last part slipped out before I could stop it.

My face flamed but he just shrugged. "Keep a tab. But first…could you…(he cleared his throat)…would you help me to the washroom? I'd like to have some privacy but I'm not sure I can make it there without you."

Still a little caught up on the first words he'd said to me, it took me a second to get his meaning. "Oh. Sure. Whatever you need." I got behind him and steadied him as he swung his legs heavily to the floor and made to stand. He was weak and very unsteady and had to sit back on the bed almost as soon as he stood. Good thing the mattress was there. I wasn't sure if I could support his weight alone. "Wait. Just hang on a minute."

I raced out of the room and called down the stairs. "Hey, um, Jim? Would you be able to come up and give me a hand?"

Though his face was a little bemused by the whole thing, Jim jogged up the flight of stairs and followed me back to Grissom's side. Grissom was sitting on the edge with his elbows braced on his knees, trying to steady himself. "Well," Jim said as he got his first view of Grissom since the accident, "he gave your cage a rattle but couldn't break the bars, huh? Always said you had a hard head. That'll teach to you to go poking around in other people's things."

Grissom growled and clutched his head tighter. He squinted up at me. "You let him in here? What's wrong with you? Go lock up the beer."

Great. I was in the middle of a circus act. The two men in front of me were clowning around and they were putting on a pretty convincing show. What was it with guys that they couldn't just ask, _'Hey, are you okay?_' Well, I could play along. "He's been alone in the kitchen for a good ten minutes. Damage is already done but I'll remember that for next time," I replied, smirking at the pair. "Jim do you think you can assist Grissom to the bathroom? I'll change the sheets while you're in there." Grissom must have been running a bit of a temperature. The sheets were decidedly soaked from the head of the bed to the foot.

"Yeah, I can manage. I've hauled his ass home a couple of times when he's been too drunk to see straight."

"More like the other way around. You can't walk a straight line sober let alone after a six pack."

"Hey Gil, got some advice for you. Next time someone takes a swing at you with a pipe? Duck."

Grissom muttered something under his breath about Brass' ancestry which I'm sure he didn't want me to hear and slammed the bathroom door home. I snickered as I changed the sheets and set out his pills in the correct amounts.

By the time Grissom made it back to bed, he was exhausted. He popped the pills, took a couple of sips of the instant soup I'd nuked for him and dropped back against the pillows. He was asleep again within seconds.

Jim and I made out way back down to the kitchen in companionable silence. I topped up his mug and filled one for myself then settled onto one of the breakfast bar stools with a sigh.

"So, you're Sara."

I looked up at his amused tone in surprise. "You're the second person from Grissom's work to say that to me and in exactly that manner. I'm beginning to feel a little creeped out."

"Who else?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who else said, 'So you're Sara,'?"

"Oh. Conrad Ecklie. He let me in last night. He's also the person who told me Grissom had been hurt."

"Okay. That makes sense." Brass chuckled into his coffee.

"Not to me, it doesn't. What gives?"

He set his mug down and shrugged. "Grissom's the new kid on the block. Friendly enough. Devoted to his science. A little odd but most of the good ones are. And say, who am I to judge. Really, really, private. We've been out a couple of times after shift…you know, grabbed a couple of beers to unwind but that's about it. Grissom is a little solitary. Doesn't talk much about his personal life. With the reputation he's got you figure he'd be a bit of an asshole but he's not. Smart but doesn't shove it down your throat and he's fair-minded to boot. He's a bit of a workaholic but all in all, he's a good addition to the team."

"Okay. Jives with what I know about him. So?"

"So…yesterday, he plays superman, trying to take out that punk and gets clocked, right? That pipe put him out cold. Everything happened so fast. Grissom's the only one who knows exactly what went down yesterday. We're hoping he can eventually fill in the blanks; providing he can remember it all. We kind of came in after the fact. Ecklie and me…well, we were more than a little concerned that we couldn't get him to come around. Called 911…chased the ambulance to the hospital…did the emergency room pace…the whole ball of wax. Doctor comes out and lets us know how he's doing. Asks for emergency contacts and the like. Ecklie and I are no help whatsoever and the doctor says he'll call LVPD for Grissom's personal information. Just as he's heading back in, a nurse comes out and tells him that Grissom has come around. The doctor gives us permission to follow him back. Grissom's awake but completely out of it…or so we thought. He's thrashing about on the bed going on and on about how Sara was going to call…that he had to get home…and something about Knight to pawn four. He won't stop until Ecklie promises to take care of it. Must have satisfied him because he settled right down after that." Another chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Well, we didn't know who the hell you were or the first thing to do about contacting you but since Grissom was calmer, we figured we could sort it all out later when he was feeling up to it."

"Wow." What else could I say to that? Grissom was so concerned about returning my call that my name was the one he was calling out in the emergency room. My stomach fluttered. That had to mean something, right? He cared in some form, right? With an effort I brought my attention back to the conversation at hand. "That explains everything but the reason you two looked at me like I was some strange specimen under a microscope when I introduced myself."

Roses bloomed in his cheeks. "Ecklie and I…we sort of entertained ourselves while we were waiting for Grissom to be released by guessing what you would look like…or be like."

"I see." My lips twisted into a teasing smirk. "Did I come out better or worse than you expected?"

"Better. Much much better!"

That set off another peel of laughter and I decided to let it go rather than quiz him farther. "Well now, that's a load off my mind." I watched him fidget on the chair, knowing he wanted more information than that but not sure how much he could ask before offending me. I decided that he deserved a little after helping me earlier. I extended my hand and he accepted it. "Hi. I'm Sara Sidle."

He pumped my arm gently and then propped his head on his hand. "You're going to give me more than that, I hope." His eyes had a deep, harmless puppy dog glaze to them and I have to admit that in that moment Jim Brass became one of my favorite people.

"I met Grissom officially at a conference a couple of months ago (though I heard him speak at Harvard on a previous tour) and was fascinated by his take on forensics. I'm a physics major working on my Masters but I've worked in criminal labs since I was seventeen. I'm thinking about making a major shift in the near future. He's advising me on some of my career options and we've become friends as well. We have a lot in common. We're both complete geeks, we both enjoy answering impossible questions and science is a subject that we both keep near and dear to our hearts. We play chess long distance and usually he beats me soundly despite the fact that I actually do know my way around the board pretty well. I'm going to win this one though. He's on the run and he knows it. When I called last night I was going to deliver his walking papers but when I learned he was hurt and that there was no one for him to call I flew out to help. There. You're caught up and you have my permission to share that much with Conrad as well but if Grissom values his privacy that much-"

"Don't worry. I'm not fond of gossip. I can't the same about Ecklie but I'll try to keep the information on a need to know basis."

"Thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

He polished off what was left in his mug and brought it over to the sink to rinse it. "Look, this has been very nice but I need to find my bed before I fall down. It was nice meeting you, Sara. Can you manage on your own?"

"I think so. Gil seems a lot more with it than he was just a couple of hours ago."

"I'll check in before shift to see how things are going."

"Great. Ecklie's supposed to call as well. I'm sure we'll be fine." I walked him to the door and watched until he slipped into his car. Giving a final wave, I closed the door. Jim had the right idea. I could do with a little sleep myself. I trudged up the stairs and slipped into the padded chair just as I had a few hours previously and drifted off this time without a problem.


	7. Chapter 7

Adagio

Part VII

For the next twenty-four hours Grissom and I managed as well as could be expected. He was starting to show great signs of improvement. His appetite had come back and he was able to sit and talk with me a little before sliding back into a snooze. Not that we talked about anything sophisticated or memorable. The words weren't important. The very act of conversation was all that mattered. I remember laughing on occasion and using voices set on an intimate level. It was something I really enjoyed.

Though his head hadn't completely stopped hurting, his sleep was more restful and he woke more and more refreshed each time. The only bad news was that as his health improved the bruising on his face and arms bloomed. Livid colours blotched his skin, so deep and so angry that it was almost painful to look at them. Having had an intimate acquaintance with those sorts of marks, I really felt for him; so much so that I was grateful that his headaches required us to keep his bedroom dim. It made it easier for me to pretend that they weren't there.

Yes, Grissom was looking and behaving more like himself by the day. I wish the same could be said for me. Though it was true that I could go for long periods of time on little or no sleep, when I abused myself like that I eventually crashed and burned. I was on the brink of doing that very thing near the end of day three. I was getting cranky and restless and it was difficult to keep those feelings hidden.

The recliner was comfortable but I knew I wasn't getting the best rest that I could in the short periods I'd been allotted. Grissom had made it past the first health benchmark with flying colours. The notes Conrad left me stated that if everything was going well, it was okay to let Grissom sleep for longer periods of time; four hours to be exact. I decided that I had to take advantage of that the first opportunity I got and went to lie down in the guest room down the hall. As a precaution, I set Grissom's bedside clock alarm along with my watch alarm so that if I was sleeping too deeply to hear my watch, his alarm would alert me. Satisfied that I'd taken all of the necessary precautions, I pulled back the covers and settled onto the mattress with a deep sigh. I was so tired I don't even remember falling asleep.

I do however remember waking up. Someone was calling my name, over and over. Someone had grabbed me and was holding my arms as I fought against his grip. I panicked, fighting harder. The hands fell away weakly and I scrambled back from them as much as the tangled sheets would allow me.

"Sara. Calm down. It's me. Grissom. You're just having a bad dream. I didn't mean to frighten you more. I'm sorry. Come on, Sara, open your eyes. You have to wake up."

I knew that voice. It didn't belong in this horrible dream. Grissom. Grissom's voice. Asking me to open my eyes. I finally managed to do just that, breaking the free of the harsh grip of the nightmare and looked around skittishly. The muted rose and green of the guest room filtered sluggishly into my awareness and I was able to process where I was and what had happened.

I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry. I hadn't had one of those damn things in months; in fact hadn't had one this intense in years. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what had brought it on. Maybe seeing the bruises on Gil's face combined with exhaustion had left me open for an attack from my sub-conscious. I sighed fretfully and pushed my hair out of my face.

Gil was sitting uneasily on the edge of my bed. I could see that he was afraid to move or speak for fear of setting me off again. I tried to set him at ease, I even reached out a hand to cover his despite the fact that I normally couldn't stand to touch or be touched after waking up in this state. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had a really intense nightmare."

He nodded, the worry in his eyes not easing at all. "I could hear you screaming loud and clear from the next room."

Oh god. I bit my lip, worrying it as I debated whether or not to ask my next question. "Did…did I say anything?"

He shook his head. "A lot of no's. Something about a clock. I didn't catch anything else."

"Hmm." Well that at least was a relief. Lexie had gotten a lot more than that on occasion. "Okay. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

"Relax, Sara. I'm fine. Do you often have intense dreams like that?"

"I used to. I thought I'd gotten over it. Guess I was just a little more tired than I thought."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "I don't remember it." Well, it was true. I didn't remember this one but I didn't have to. I'd had more or less the same ones since the night my mother had stabbed my father so all Grissom had to say was the word, "clock," and I knew which freaky mind trip my sub conscious had set me on. Still, at least I didn't have to lie to him. I shivered. My arms were covered in goose bumps. I pulled away, needing the space. So much for sleep. There was no possible way I would be able to settle down again tonight. "I'm so sorry."

"Sara, it's okay-"

"Here you are hurt and I go and frighten you like that. I can't believe-"

"It was a nightmare, Sara. You can't control what happened. With the scenes I've attended I get some pretty strong dreams myself. Come on. Let's go downstairs and watch some television. Take your mind off it for a while."

"You're not up to that, Griss," I replied, appreciating the suggestion but knowing it would be difficult for him to follow through. "Really, I'll be okay. You should be in bed, resting."

He smiled at me then; a soft engaging, inviting smile and I let go of the anxiety and smiled back. "I can rest as easily on the sofa as I can in my room."

Not able to argue with that, and frankly not really of a mind to, I shifted back the covers and then stood up thankful I'd thought to wear pj's instead of just a night shirt. I started to head for the door but stopped when I realized Grissom was staring at my chest. At first, I admit I was a little shocked, but then I realized he was just reading what was silk-screened on my top. In tiny lettering the shirt read:

_"I have so many unanswered WHYS:_

_Why does night fall but never break and day break but never fall?_

_Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?_

_Why do people who know the least know it the loudest?_

_Why do they call it research, when looking for something new?_

_Why is "abbreviation" such a long word?_

_Why isn't phonetic spelled the way it sounds?_

_Why are you using the words on my t-shirt as an excuse to stare at my chest?"_

The end part startled a laugh out of him. "Cute."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. A gift from a friend. I haven't found the nerve to wear it out in public yet."

His lips curved into this devilish grin and he actually winked at me. "I wasn't talking about the shirt."

_A/N: I don't know if this story will allow me to revisit Sara's nightmares at a later time but for those readers who aren't familiar with my One in Some Percent Series I thought it would help to let you know that if you're interested in what Sara was dreaming you can find the details there. Quotes are from One-liners and . (/)._


	8. Chapter 8

Adagio

Part VIII

My phone was ringing as I juggled my keys, suitcase and three bags full of groceries into my apartment. I leaned back against my door, debating whether or not to make a dash for it. I wasn't ready to speak to Grissom just yet and considering how abruptly I had left there was a good possibility that he'd felt the need to check in with me to make sure I made it home alright. I didn't know if I had the strength to face the call. Maybe it was better to take the coward's way out.

Guilt about having such thoughts pushed me into action. I dropped everything in my hands to the hallway floor tiles and trudged to the phone, stretching my back as I went. I should have made two trips with that load but sheer stubbornness egged me into doing it in one. I'd pay for that little bit of stupidity tomorrow. I could already feel a pinch settling into my lower back.

I grabbed at the phone just as the machine kicked in. I spoke loudly over the out-going message, "Just a sec. I'm here…I'm here." I pressed the interrupt button and winced at the overloud beep. "Sorry about that."

"Sara?"

"Mom?"

"Yes, it's me. Now, this is a surprise. I was expecting your machine to pick up. I didn't think you were due back for a few days yet."

Lexie's words sounded light and airy but I could hear the questions rooted in them. "Well, that was the plan but it turned out I didn't need to stay as long as I thought." I made my way back to the kitchen and scooped up the groceries in the process. Settling them on the counter I opened the refrigerator and disposed of anything that made me think twice about eating it. A jar of spaghetti sauce lost its lid as I dropped it into the trash can and splattered my jeans and t-shirt in globs of sticky, red splotches. Perfect. I reached for paper towels with a resigned sigh. "What's up?" I tried to make my tone match hers but it was a strain. Still, there was a chance she might buy it.

"Oh, I just called to let you know that Andrew's Christening has been set for the first Sunday in July and to convince you to book your seats as soon as possible so that you're able to get a flight. You know, long weekend and all."

"Okay." I grabbed a whiteboard marker and wrote myself a note on the memo board attached to the refrigerator. "July…cousin…Christening. Got it. How's she doing?" I asked, wondering if my aunt had recovered completely from her c-section.

"Better and better. The infection was more minor than they thought. The two rounds of antibiotics seem to have made the worst of it disappear. She may need another set but we'll know more in a couple of days."

"Well, no trip back to the hospital. That's good."

"Yes. Oh, speaking of hospitals, how is your friend doing?"

I winced. For a moment or two my mother had made me forget about him completely. Now he was forefront in my mind again. "Fine. He's almost good as new. He's still getting a couple of headaches a day but they're intermittent and he thinks he should be able to go back to lab duty at the start of next week." Unbidden, Grissom's face appeared in my brain; less swollen and bruised than it had been at first but certainly not back to normal. "He's out of danger at least."

"That's good to hear. Well." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

I paused in the act of swiping at the stains, smirking despite myself. "Yes, mom?"

"I guess I was hoping you'd take more time off. You know…see the sights. That sort of thing. You haven't had a break since Christmas and-"

"And?"

"Oh, come on, Sara. Don't make me get out a shovel. I'm digging hard enough as it is."

"You want to know why I came home early."

"Yes. It's very unlike you to take off like that in the first place and then to hear that you came home early…well…I'm worried, honey. Your voice sounds tight."

_About as tight as yours, I imagine_. "It's the connection," I told her; stalling for time so I could figure out what to say.

"That didn't work in college and it sure isn't working now. Give, Sara. Maybe I can help."

And even though I'd sworn I wasn't going to tell anyone about what had happened, I found myself spilling my guts to my mother as I dropped onto the sofa in a twitchy heap. "I like him mom. I really like him."

"Who?"

"Gilbert Grissom."

"Gilbert Grissom? Who exactly is Gilbert Grissom."

"Just this man I met a couple of months ago. Well, actually, a couple of years ago but we've only become friends recently."

I could hear her smiling on her end of the line. "Well, that's lovely Sara. Tell me about him."

"He's a scientist…forensic scientist. Brilliant. He challenges me, mom. I just, I don't know, I just love being with him and talking with him and…god, I sound so…so…"

"So in love, Sara. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Is that how I sound?"

"Yes. Go on, Sara. Tell me everything."

So I told her about meeting him at the lectures and our coffee date. I omitted the fact that I was more than willing to sleep with him that first night too. I'm not sure she could have handled that much honesty. And I told her about his eyes…and…well…anything else that tumbled from me in a heated rush. And when I was done, I heard her chuckle softly. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "So, sounds like everything was going along fine. What happened?"

"I had a nightmare, mom. A bad one. He heard me all the way from down the hall."

"Oh Sara, I'm so sorry. I thought you'd grown out of them. You haven't had one since you were a teenager." When I didn't answer right away she jumped. "Sara?"

"That's not entirely accurate, mom."

"What do you mean? I thought you'd stopped having them."

"No…I had them off and on through the first couple of years at Harvard." I admitted, adding quickly, "But they eased up after that."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I only had them once in a while…you know if I was sick or under a lot of stress. I didn't want to worry you. And I haven't had one in a year so I'd been hoping they'd stopped entirely but I guess I was wrong."

"How did you manage?"

"Then or at Grissom's?"

"Both."

"I don't know. In college, I got through it. I didn't room with anyone and I guess they never got as loud as some of the one's I'd had when I was living with you. As for these ones, I just…sort of pretended that I didn't remember it…and worked really hard at pretending I was a normal human being and not some freak let loose on mankind." I kicked at the coffee table and sent the chessboard skidding to the floor. _Dammit._

"Sara! Stop that. You know I can't stand it when you put yourself down like that. You went through something that many people wouldn't be strong enough to pull through. These nightmares are just a way for your mind to cope with all you've seen."

I caved in on myself. "Yeah, I know. I know." I'd heard all of the explanations before. I was extremely well educated on the current run of thought with regard to my sub-conscious brain and its evil machinations. "It's just so…frustrating! I thought I was done with all of this drama. I can't believe that they're back again."

"You've had more?"

"Yes. Two while I was there. God, mom, I think they're even more intense now than they used to be. But I was able to hide them. He didn't realize…"

Lexie interrupted sharply. "More intense? How?"

Great. Now I'd really scared her. "The details. I remember so much more of them. They're sort of playing like a movie…not like…like scenes where I'd pop from one place to another without a lot of connection. It's hard to explain. You'd think the passing years would make the images fade not-not become more focused."

"Are you sleep walking again?"

"No. I don't think so." Thank god that little phase hadn't shown it's ugly head in this repeat performance.

"Acting out parts of them?"

Trust Lexie to get to the heart of things."No. I don't think so. I've woken up exactly where I dozed off every time."

"Do you…do you have any idea what triggered them?"

"Yeah. At least I think I do. Grissom's face, mom, as it started to heal…it was so awful! My-um-my birth mother…the last time she and my father had fought-well, the resemblance between her wounds and his is just eerie. And I wasn't sleeping well so my defenses were low but it's not like I haven't seen worse at work. I don't know why it hit me so hard. I couldn't get it out of my mind."

"Well, I'm no expert but I would have to say that it could be the personal connection. The case-files you deal with at work are filled with strangers, right? This is someone you care about a lot, who was the victim of a life-threatening violent crime. I'm sure your sub-conscious was trying to protect you…and help you deal with the feelings you were suppressing before they became too much." There was another small pause. "How are you doing right now?"

I sucked in a jagged breath. "Not well. It's why I had to leave. I stayed until I knew he was out of danger and then told him I needed to go home. I'm sure he thought I needed to get back for school and work and I didn't correct that impression. I was so jumpy and exhausted and short-tempered…it was all I could do to pretend nothing was wrong. As much as I really, really wanted to stay I knew I just had to come home. I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to get through another one without him finding out."

"I'm sure he would have understood-"

"I don't want him to understand. I don't want him anywhere near this stuff. There's enough between us right now…this is just too important." To my horror, I felt tears trickling down my cheeks. "It's not fair. I don't want to be this person anymore."

"Sara, I'm going to fly out there. Tonight if I can get a flight."

"No, mom, I'm sorry, please, I'm okay. I'm just mad and-and-a little upset right now."

"Shush. I'm coming. I'll see if Zach can get away too."

"Mom…I'm-I'm fine." I made one last weak protest but she wasn't listening.

"We'll be there soon, honey," was all she said before the line went dead.

I let the phone fall away from my ear, my hands dropping lifelessly to my lap. My mother was flying out to see me because I'd had some bad dreams. My chest heaved a watery, hiccup-like laugh and I was overwhelmed at the sense of relief I experienced at the thought. It was so silly to feel so happy at the thought of seeing them, but I couldn't help it.

The phone in my hand went off, its sharp ring making me jump. I answered it right away. Maybe she'd found a reason she couldn't come. The onslaught of disappointment rocked me. "Mom?"

"No…sorry, Sara…it's…um…it's Grissom."

And even though I knew there was no possible way he could see me through the phone, I scrubbed the tears from my cheeks with the pads of my fingers and finger-combed my hair back from my face. "Grissom! Hi!" I pitched my voice a little higher, hoping I sounded cheerful on his end. "I hope you weren't worried. I was going to call when I got in but my mom beat me to the punch."

"Not worried, exactly Sara," he told me. "Just…I don't know…I just wanted to hear your voice. This place seems a little too quiet for me right now. I guess I got used to having you here."

Though his words should have cheered me considerably, he only made me feel worse, but I was determined not to let him know that. "I liked being there with you too, Griss." _So much_, I added silently. _At least I did before everything got all twisted up._

"Then why…?" He stopped himself. "Was it me, Sara? Did I do something wrong?"

"NO!" I caught hold of myself firmly and tried to cover my little explosion. "Sorry, Grissom. I mean, no, you didn't do anything wrong. I just had to get back."

"Because I thought…I thought…you…Look, I'm not very good at this but I was fairly certain that we…that you were attracted to me and that we both were interested in-in each other. Was I wrong?"

I wasn't ready to have this conversation, not with everything else I was working through. "No, Griss, you weren't wrong."

"Then…what happened?" When I didn't answer, he continued, "Because we were fine until I…until that night we fell asleep together on the sofa, right?"

"Gil…we're fine now."

"Because I didn't mean for things to get so…so heated so quickly. I was just…I didn't mean to kiss you. Well, no, that's not quite right. I did mean to kiss you but I didn't realize I was until I-Sara, I was half asleep and-"

"Gil! Gil! It's okay. I understand. I didn't mind. Honestly, I didn't mind at all!"

"That's not the way it seemed." He sounded so unsure. So hurt. So rejected.

Rejected! Oh god, is that what he was thinking? That I rejected him? I searched for an answer that would serve. Something that wouldn't hurt him but wouldn't be an outright lie. "Grissom, I wanted that kiss as much as you did. I wanted more, actually but I-I was exhausted and it took me by surprise and I guess I got a little nervous." And I'd woken up ready to scream from a nightmare and he'd been holding me so tightly that I outright panicked. Dammit. Dammit! He kissed me and I didn't have a chance to really experience what it was like or examine how it made me feel. My fight or flight response was in full swing and frankly it was all I could do to keep myself from tearing myself out of his arms and putting the full length of the living room between us. I know I stiffened and eased out of the kiss as quickly as I could but I'd thought I'd covered it better than that. I'd stayed with him on the sofa…talking…until I felt I could move away without upsetting him but I guess it wasn't enough. I obviously screwed things up royally. "It wasn't the kiss or-or you it was just the-the timing."

"Oh." He didn't sound convinced.

"Please, Gil. Please understand. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you. Please don't hate me."

"I don't hate you, Sara. I'm just trying to figure things out."

Short of telling him the very thing I was trying to avoid saying, there was little I could do to help him. "Are you feeling okay? How's your head?"

"Fine. Better by the day."

"Still planning on returning to the lab next week?"

"Yes. If everything keeps improving I should be able to make good on that plan."

"Good. Good."

For the first time since we'd started calling each other, a deep silence dropped between us that was both uncomfortable and disturbing. A few words later, we said good-bye. I pressed the 'end' button on my receiver and then gently placed the phone on the coffee table wondering if I'd ever hear from him again.


	9. Chapter 9

_Adagio_

Part IX

_All of these nights without you  
All of my dreams surround you  
I see and i touch your face  
I fall into your embrace  
When the time is right, i know  
You'll be in my arms  
Adagio  
_

"Hey Sara…it's me…Grissom. Just calling to…to, well, I was thinking of you so I thought I'd call. I'm home for the rest of the night. If you feel like talking, you can reach me here."

There was a click and the dull drone of the dial tone then the line went dead. I stared at the phone calling myself every kind of coward. My hand itched…no…ached…to pick up the reciever but my brain stopped the action coldly. It wouldn't be fair to Grissom, some small disjointed voice whispered in my head. It wouldn't be fair. I sighed deeply and settled awkwardly back against the sofa cushions, so tired I couldn't even talk myself into moving to a better position.

My eyes drifted upwards, catching the matched Dali prints that hung over my mantel. The two pieces, _Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite_ and _Galatea of the Spheres_ sat side by side, each one an example of fractured beauty couched in secrets. At least that was my interpretation. I believe Dali was famous for saying that despite the fact that he wasn't sure of the meaning behind his paintings, that didn't mean that they had no meaning. I was paraphrasing of course but that was the gist. He encouraged those who viewed his artwork to search for their own meaning in his works and these particular paintings had called to me on so many levels that I knew I had to buy them the minute I spotted them at one of Harvard's art expos. I could see myself in the bits and pieces that made up the whole; my face in the midst of such chaos. Though I know they were inspired by Dali's fascination with mythology and his obsession with the ravages of time and technology on the human condition, I still felt a deeply personal connection to them. As if somehow…in some way…they'd been painted soley for me. Hell, sometimes I used them as my talisman…my touchstone. When things got rough, I would stare at them and ask myself if the sum of my parts was greater than Dali's deconstructed visions. A little skewed, I know, but it worked. If I answered positively I moved on, putting the problem behind me or working for a solution. If my answer was negative…well…then I would know I was in trouble. I examined them harshly now, measuring my mental state against their lifeless constructs and knew myself to be lacking. It frightened me. It was the first time since I'd bought the pictures that I'd answered in the negative. I didn't know what to do.

"You didn't pick up the phone."

I jumped, so unused to having company that I'd forgotten I had a house-guest. I turned from my study to see Lexie standing behind me in her robe. She was currently my only house guest. Zach had returned to Tameles Bay after staying a couple of nights but Lexie had decided to hang around a bit longer. While I was glad for the company, I still wished it stemmed from a desire to share time with me rather than concern. "Sorry, Mom, I didn't realize the phone would disturb you."

"Is that a polite way of saying you forgot I was here?"

"Yeah." Trust Lexie to cut right to the heart of the matter.

"You spend too much time alone, Sara but I suppose that's always been the case, hasn't it?" She shook her head, shoving her hands in the pockets of her terrycloth robe and leaned against the door jamb. " And the phone didn't disturb me, Sar. You did." She nodded at my guilty look and said, "I heard you moving around an hour ago." When I didn't say anything she asked, "That makes what? Three hours sleep in the last couple of days?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "There abouts."

"Sara, you can't keep going like this."

"You'd think but I don't see an end coming anytime soon." I winced at the hurt that shifted into her features. "Sorry, Mom, that wasn't directed at you. I'm just…just so frustrated." I dropped my head to my knees wrapping my legs tight to my body. "I can't sleep. It's not that I don't want to or even that I'm dreaming…I just can't seem to…" I looked up at her. "I just keep tossing until I have to-get up. I don't remember a time when I felt like this."

"I do," Lexie said. "Just after the explosion."

"You may be right."

We were quiet for a moment and then she asked, "Why didn't you pick up?"

"I couldn't. I didn't know what to say."

"The truth wouldn't hurt."

"Yes, it would."

"Not if he cares. Not if he's the one."

"And that's the point isn't it? What if he's not?"

"What if he is? Don't you think you owe it to him to tell him? To let him make his own choice? You're not being fair to him if you don't open up-"

"There's nothing to open up. That part of me is done. Finished. I'm not that person anymore. I haven't been for a very long time and I refuse to go back. I've worked too hard!" My throat was so dry…so tight. I swallowed roughly, too sad for tears…too angry with myself to allow that release.

"Sara, we've talked about this before. Shutting out a part of yourself is not dealing with the problem itself. Ignoring it won't make it go away."

"I've heard it all before, Lexie."

"Sara-"

"How many therapists do you think I've been to? How many people have I had probing and judging and-"

"Who do you think you're talking to? I've been there, Sara. Every step. I've seen the reports and I've talked to social workers. I am probably the only person left on the face of the planet that knows you inside and out. I don't know about you but that scares the hell out of me. What's going to happen, Sar, when I go?"

"Don't talk like that. Don't." Lexie gone…I couldn't imagine it.

She broke her stance and came over to the sofa. "Sar, those sessions? That was years ago. It's very possible that you never found the right person to help you through it. There aren't many people I can think of who can guide someone with your special set of issues because they simple haven't experienced anything like it but I'm sure with a little effort we could find a situation that would work. No, listen. You were a child the last time you tried it. A very bright, very gifted child but a child all the same. You're older now, stronger, wiser. You may find a solution now that escaped your previous attempts."

I sighed, already shaking my head before she'd finished. "Mom, I can't do that. I can't go back into therapy right now. I'm looking at the academy-"

She made an impatient sound low in her throat. "And you know my feelings on that score-"

"I'm not going to get into another argument over it. It's something I need to do. Something I have to try." I dropped a bitter laugh. "Hell, it might do more for me than therapy ever could."

"Or it could tear you apart into so many small pieces that you'll never be able to pull yourself back together."

Without meaning to, my gaze slid back to the prints above the fireplace. Refusing to give into my fears I pulled my eyes away and stated quietly. "I don't think it's a head thing so much as a soul thing." It was probably the closest I'd come to admitting that there might be something in me so damaged that it was beyond repair but that didn't mean that I was going to give into it. I'd fought it all my life and I'd continue to fight it for as long as I could.

Lexie was still posing her arguments, hoping I'd give way to her way of thinking. "But the police academy…forensics! You'll be immersed in the very thing you should be trying to avoid. It's such a risk, Sara."

"But one I need to take." I reached out, grasping her hand tightly in mine. "Mom…I don't know how to explain this but…ever since I began working in the police morgue and lab I've felt…I don't know…a deep sense of self worth. I haven't felt that anywhere else. I feel like I'm working for the greater good. That there's a contribution only I can make. That maybe there's some good that can come from the bad. I look at things differently than the others, Mom. I make connections that a lot of people can't see. Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe, just maybe it was necessary for me to go through what I have to be able to help stop it from happening to others."

"Sara, no one should have to go through what you did. The price is just too high." She sighed, knowing I was resolute but still deeply set against my decision. "But I can see there's no point in trying to disuade you. You need to call him."

I blinked owlishly. "How did we get back to Grissom?"

"Honey, we never left him. It's all connected and if you're determined on this course you're going to need all the friends and guidence you can get." She patted my knee. "Not to mention the fact, I have a terrible feeling that if you can't get back on track with Grissom, you don't have a hope in hell of making this work."

"You think he's that important?"

"To you? For you? Yes. No doubt." She sat back. "You've got to get this thing between you figured out so you can either move forward or move on."

I thought about what she said for a moment and then asked the question that had been circling around in my brain since I'd left him in Las Vegas. "How? How do I do this? I feel like I'm lying to him but I refuse to dump everything I've been through in his lap."

"Don't you trust him?"

"It's not that. I do trust him but no one should have to deal with this stuff. At the same time, I don't want to lie to him."

"Then don't."

Her short tone startled a laugh out of me. "Excuse me."

She shrugged. "He knows you had a nightmare. Tell him it's a problem…that you've had in the past…a hazard of the trade, if necessary. That's nothing less than the truth. One of the reasons you dream so vividly is that your mind clutches to details. If you're going to have a relationship of any kind with him then he'll have to understand that this is part of you. Honey, part of the reason I think you're having such a hard time dealing with it is that you tried to hide the nightmare itself. It's like you're ashamed of them but you know you have no control over them. Let go of the guilt attached and give yourself a break. Leave the 'reasons' in the past and go on from there."

I considered what she said. "I wouldn't be lying to him…"

"No. And, I think eventually, if things go well, you'll discover a time to let him in fully but for now…this might serve." She kissed my brow and stood. "Call him, Sara."

I watched as she left the room and then reached for the phone before I could talk myself out of it. His number was just a speed dial away and I spent the short time listening to the tones composing what I was going to say. Too bad it all deserted me the minute I heard him answer.

"Grissom."

"Hi."

"Sara?"

"Yeah…yes…it's me. How-how are you?"

"Better now that you've called. You-you sound a little strange."

I tried to take a deeper breath to calm myself. "I feel a little strange."

"Why?"

I took the plunge and jumped off the edge. "I-I haven't been sleeping…much…not since I left Las Vegas…"


	10. Chapter 10

Adagio

Part X

San Francisco was hot. Blisteringly hot. Desperate enough to strip down to your skivies and take a running jump off the bridge hot and there were enough people crammed into the little church we'd booked for the christening to make it just this side of unbearable.

"She couldn't have picked a church with air conditioning?" Zach muttered softly in my ear and I rewarded him with a soundless chuckle. When he turned to whisper the same thing to Lexie, she gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.

"Behave. I want to hear this."

Zach turned back to me and gave me an exaggerated wince then sat up a little straighter when Lexie gave him another look. I had to look away to keep from cracking up.

You had to cut Zach some slack. I could understand his impatience and I'm sure the impatience of several other people in the room. Even though I felt guilty about it, I snuck a look at my watch and then took a deep breath. I think the minister was going for some kind of record. I'd never heard of a christening taking this long before and being packed in here so tightly with Lexie's family and friends made it difficult to focus on anything he was saying. I'm certain I wasn't the only one watching the clock and wondering when they'd be able to ditch their formal clothes for something a lot cooler and more comfortable. Disrespectful or not, the minature comemerative programs with the baby's picture on them were currently serving double duty as fans for everyone seated in the nave.

At first I hadn't understood why my aunt had chosen this little chapel for Andrew's big day but Lexie told me that her great great great grandfather had helped build it right after their family had immigrated from Europe and it held a special place of importance in their family's history. Most of her family had been christened and married here and the priest was a dear family friend. Despite its age and size, it still boasted a loyal congregation, an invaluable spritual program, and a social outreach network that supported the majority of charitble services in the neighboring areas. I'd seen an events calendar on the way in. There wasn't a night in which the nave or the basement hall wasn't in use. It was obviously a much loved venue for the community it served. And though it was in remarkably good condition, unfortunately for us on this very hot Saturday, air conditioning was not one of the priorities set by the pastoral maintenance board. I'm sure they thought the money could be better used elsewhere.

And of course, to make things worse, being family we were seated front row and centre. We had no choice but to be on our best behavior for the duration of the sermon.

Finally it was time for Andrew to be taken up to the Font and for my step parents to join Andrew's parents for the blessing. I raised my camera, so glad I'd pulled photo duty on this one, and snapped off a couple of shots. It gave me something constructive to do. A lot of babies cry when the water touches their brow. Not Andrew. He let out the most beautiful laugh and as if a miracle had been performed before our very eyes everyone forgot about the heat and the lack of elbow room and joined in. I tried very hard to imprint this moment on my memory, tearing up a little at the beauty of it. How something so sweet and simple could be so touching I'll never know but I felt special just being part of it.

The rest of the ceremony flew by in comparision. Soon Lexie, Zach and I were in Zach's truck heading for the hotel. There was a dinner planned for later on that evening so they wanted to rest and change before they went. I, however, had other plans.

"You sure you don't mind me bowwowing the truck, Zach. I don't mind taking a cab."

"No, no. We don't need it till later," Zach replied. "You know, Sara, I could tag along. Show you some of my old haunts..."

"Get caught by an old buddy…make me miss my interview," I teased and shook my head. "Not today, Zach, but thanks. Besides, how would it look to walk into that interview with my step-dad in tow. Not quite the independent first impression I want to give, you know?" I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Depending on how things progress, how'bout we make plans to do that tomorrow. I'd love to get the guided tour and meet your friends and I'd rather have this out of the way so I could really enjoy it. Deal?"

His answering smile was wide and proud. "Done."

We'd reached the hotel by that time and Zach's attention was focussed on maneuvering through the crowded valet turn-out and pulling into the curb.

Zach and Lexie climbed out and I switched over to the driver's seat and began adjusting my mirrors. I was all set to wave and drive off when I noticed Lexie's expression. I rolled down the window. "Mom? You okay?"

She shrugged. "I'm just feeling a little over-protective, that's all. You need to do what you need to do. Good luck, honey." She pasted on a bright smile and waved me off.

"Thanks, Mom." I rolled the window back up and took a quick look around. I waited until they stepped clear of the car and then pressed the accelerator home. In minutes I was maneuvering my way through traffic, concentrating on the directions that Zach had given me the night before.

I had an apointment with the San Francisco Police Academy director with regard to a trasfer to their crime lab and the possible commencement of my academy training. I'd finished my Master's in Theorhetical Physics and with Grissom's help had realized that I really had only two options open that held any interest at all at the point in my life. The first was to continue my education and study for my doctorate. The second was to become a field Crime Scene Investigator. I'd been flip-flopping back and forth for close to a month but when Grissom heard of an opening at the San Francisco lab, I took it as a sign and applied for an apointment. I was contacted within days of them having received my application and took advantage of this trip to schedule my interview. If things worked out, I'd be one of five candidates in training for forensic field work.

I found the appropriate building without a problem and parked in the main lot with a good fifteen minutes to spare. I took a few minutes personal time in the ladies' restroom and then caught the elevator to the second floor. The receptionist greeted me, confirmed my apointment and gestured to the coffee that sat on a nearby table. I was encouraged to help myself and then take a seat. I was then told that the director would be with me shortly.

She'd been correct. No sooner had I poured myself a steaming cup but a door to my left opened up and a thickly muscled, barrel of a man came out to greet me by name. "Sara Sidle, I presume?" he asked, offering me a hand.

"Yes sir," I replied politely, juggling my file and cup to accept his hand. "You must be Captain Ernshaw. We spoke on the phone last week. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"Likewise. Please, follow me." He led the way into the office and gestured me to a visitor's chair. "I understand this is the first such interview you've had with regard to continuing your education in law enforcement so I'm not certain how much information you've receieved regarding our practices here but we'll get into that directly. First let me tell you that you come highly recommended. I have numerous commendations in your file for your superior lab work and attention to detail so I know you'll be an asset to our facility. And, if this job was dependant on that aspect alone, you would have already made it to placement status. The reality I want you to be prepared for, however, is that our budget doesn't stretch enough to allow us to hire CSI specific personel at this time. While we do have our tech division and a specialized forensic unit, the people assigned to that division are all sworn officers who have not only completed full academy training but have also had the distinction of graduating at the top of their class. Our forensics division is an extention of the homicide unit and when not involved in more complex roles, our officers serve in that division as well. Also, while it's true that your education and work experience puts you far and above the two of other candidates being considered for this posting, they have completed basic training and specialized forensic courses with full honors." He leaned back in his chair. "Frankly, in my opinion, the academy route is really the only route to go if you plan on making a career in law enforcement. Sallaries for sworn officers greatly exceed those paid to people hired as civilian associates and when you combine that with the benefits and future career options there really is no comparison."

I nodded briefly. "Yes sir. That's been explained to me in great detail. There's only a few labs in the country, including those in the Federal system, that can afford to retain such specifically dedicated investigators so I came here fully expecting to go through both the basic and ballistic training required. However, it was mentioned that there may be a way of expediting some of the written course work due to my experience and science background."

"Certainly. Judging from what I've seen in your file, you may be able to complete your training in four months rather than the standard six to eight month period. At the very least, you may be able to challenge specific courses and write the final exams rather than sitting through the entire lecture series. Where you won't be allowed to move ahead will be in the physical aspects of your program. Defense, weaponry, physical fitness, rescue techniques, law studies…all of that will most likely take the standard amount of time."

"Perfectly understandable. I'd be worried if such were not the case. So, if the rest of my information is correct all that remains is for you to give the go ahead on the transfer and it's done, right?"

"Yes." There was a pause in which he studied me openly, searching I'm sure, for any doubts or weaknesses. "But first, let me ask you one final question. Are you certain this is what you want?"

"As certain as I can be, sir. Why?"

"Well, let's be honest here. I mean, there are a multitude of career options for someone of your calibur in the private secter that in the the long run could turn out to be way more financially viable. Not to mention are far less dangerous than the course you're currently interested in pursuing."

"I'm aware of that, sir. I'm also aware that many of those options will still be open to me should I chose to puruse them at a later but this one may not be. And because the physical aspect of this job and the training involved are at such a high level of demand, I can't afford to wait. In order to take full advantage of my current options I have to act immediately. This is where my life is focussed right now and this is where I need to be."

"In that case, Miss Sidle, I believe we have an opening for you in our academy. I still think you're crazy for taking it but I'd be crazier still not to accept a person with your skill set on my team. Give me a number at which I can reach you for the next couple of days and I'll be in touch when schedules have been worked out."

I jotted down the requested information and he stood to conclude the interview. I followed suit. "Thank-you, Captain Ernshaw. I'll be waiting for your call." He reached out to shake my hand a second time and then I was free to leave. I crossed the floor and closed the door quietly after I'd passed through. As soon as it latched, I released a nerve-filled breath and leaned back against the wall, thankful that the interview was behind me. I was grinning ear to ear, knowing things had gone as well as I could have hoped they would and that I'd finally made a decision with regard to what path I was going to follow for the foreseeable future.

"Things went well, I take it?"

My heart jumped into my throat and I turned to the speaker in shock. "Grissom! What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, smiling at my surprise. "Moral support. I wanted to see you before you went in but my flight was delayed."

I shook my head ruefully. "Probably a good thing. I think seeing you then would have made me even more nervous than I already was."

His face grew curious. "Really? Why's that?"

I looked away trying to control a blush. "I don't know. I just wasn't expecting to see you I guess. But I'm glad you're here now."

"So am I. You didn't answer my question. How did it go?"

I beamed at him. "Good. Really good. He's taking me on. I'm supposed to get a schedule in the next couple of days. Looks like I'm moving to San Francisco."

He took a step closer. "And you're happy?"

I nodded and took one too. "Yes. Really happy. Wasn't sure I would be but – it feels right." On impulse, I reached up and put my arms around his shoulders, giving him a friendly hug. "Thanks, Griss."

He didn't hesitate in returning it. "You're welcome, but I can't really say I did much."

I pulled back at that. "Are you kidding? I'm not sure I would have had the nerve to go through with this if it hadn't been for you and all those talks we had. It meant a lot knowing I had your support."

"Good. I'm glad." He pulled back far enough to break the hug but stood with a hand at the middle of my back. "Are you through then?"

"For today, yes." My back tingled under the weight of his palm and though it was a poor substitute for the embrace we'd just shared, I wasn't complaining.

"Good, then let's get something to eat…and celebrate," he said, guiding me to the elevator.

I bit my lip. "Oh, Gil, I'd love to but…I'm afraid I have to go to a family dinner. Andrew's Christening, remember?"

He shook his head. "Forgot all about that." We stepped into the lift and he pressed the button for the main floor.

"What time does your flight leave?"

"Midnight. I have to be back at the lab in time for tomorrow's shift."

"I could always call and cancel-"

"That wouldn't be fair to your family, Sara. I know my mother would never forgive me if I did something like that."

"You're right. Lexie wouldn't be happy at all but she'd understand. I really don't mind-"

"No, it's okay." The doors swished open and we stepped off the elevator. "We'll meet after."

That didn't give us much time and he knew it. I could tell that neither of us wanted to be parted so soon. "You know, you could come with me, if you wanted, make a quick appearance and we could go out after…I mean, that is, if you wouldn't be uncomfortable." I watched his face anxiously, not afraid to let him see how much I wanted him to go with me. "At least we could spend some time together."

At first it looked like he was gearing up to refuse but after staring at me intently for a moment I heard him say, "Alright, Sara. If you're sure they wouldn't mind."

_A/N: All academy training and information was taken from the "How Things Work" website which included a general overview and some personal experience essays from people who worked in these situations during the beginnings of forensics. According to one such source, it's interesting to learn how few departments even in today's modern age have the budget to support a dedicated team such as is portrayed on CSI. He actually cautions people who are looking to forensics as a career that they complete their academy training first because despite the remarkable advancements we've seen in the scientific area of this field, the personel area and job opportunities really haven't changed all that much._


	11. Chapter 11

Adagio

Part XI

Dinner was…nice. Well, that's honestly the best word to describe it. I suppose it was a little on the surrealistic side, since I hadn't really thought things through enough to picture what might actually happen at dinner but…it was…nice.

Grissom and I really didn't get much of a chance for private conversation, and were often the subject of more than one curious stare or comment but overall I think it went well.

My family had booked a room at an intimate Italian bistro to celebrate the christening. Grissom sat beside me in the chair to my right with a polite smile hovering on his lips. He was still wearing the deep blue dress shirt that he'd worn to the station and matching dress pants but he'd added a black tie and dinner jacket to the ensemble that did magnificent things to his eyes. Every now and then that smile he was wearing would broaden to a laugh and he would look over at me and we would share a moment before he turned his attention back to what was being said. At first, he seemed a little uncomfortable and spoke very little…almost as if he were trying to get a measure of the people seated with him before he opened himself up…but, after listening for a while he felt brave enough to slip in a few comments of his own, despite the fact that I could see he was still a little tense. It was a different side to him that I hadn't seen before, this social shyness, and my heart went out to him.

Unseen by the others, I slipped my hand underneath the tablecloth and tentatively clasped his, trying to send him a little support. I didn't know if that would make him even more uncomfortable but instead of pulling away, he gripped my hand a little tighter and relaxed enough to laugh at one of my cousin's awful puns. It seemed to be a turning point. Between that and the wine that was delivered to the table a few minutes later, I really think Grissom started to enjoy himself. Nobody seemed to notice when I picked up my fork in my left hand to eat just so I could maintain that contact or if they did they were wise enough to not to comment. In between appetizers of fresh salads and heaping pasta entrees he made simple small talk and got to know the people who had accepted me as one of their own when I was seventeen.

It was fascinating watching him interact with the people I cared most about in the world. More fascinating still to see how well he fit in. Though I took my turn, joining in the discussion when I felt I had something to say, I was just as content to listen; to let the conversation swirl around me as I watched the byplay of expressions and body language. When talk turned to sports and cooking, I grinned as he became more animated, learning he was a passionate cubs fan and a considerably well accomplished cook.

I think I actually groaned when the cooking information had come out because he turned to me with a very strange expression and I had to explain myself. "I can only imagine what you thought of the stuff I made you when I was in Vegas."

"You let Sara do the cooking?" Lexie asked, aghast. "It's a wonder you managed to get back on your feet at all."

"I'm not that bad," I tossed back. "I have managed to survive on my own for years now."

"Yes," Lexie said blandly. "As long as Sara has a phone and a take out menu she can cook with the best of them." The table went up and Lexie sent me a wink. "Actually," she continued, "she's a pretty handy baker. Her cookies are something else. I think that she does well there because she has to follow a recipe and doesn't let herself get distracted. Her sweet tooth refuses to let her ruin baked goods. Regular food bores her. Hard to believe she's both an accomplished chemist and physicist."

It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before and since it was hard to argue with the truth I turned to Grissom and said, "I have much better things to do with my time than watch water boil. Take out's faster, tastier and there's no clean-up. Much more efficient."

Grissom nodded, accepting my point but countered with, "True. However, there's something so deeply satisfying and sensual in preparing a meal from scratch with your own two hands. The aromas of fresh ingredients, the flush of heat from the stove, the textures of the food you're handling…it's a process that involves every one of your senses and is never the same experience twice." His gaze had found mine again, the reflection of candlelight flickering in their depths making them dance, and I was hard-pressed to formulate a response to his statement.

"I hadn't thought of it that way before," I finally managed, taking a sip of wine to coat my suddenly dry throat. "We'll have to arrange a time for you to show me exactly what you mean. I may change my opinion altogether." There was another moment that no one else seemed to want to interrupt and then the waitress appeared with our desert menus and talk centred on that for a while.

When the topic of conversation turned to work, specifically mine and Grissom's as I knew it eventually would, I shifted a little in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. I didn't mind discussing my work with my family but I kept the more horrific aspects under wraps preferring to highlight the scientific side of things rather than the brutal underbelly. I didn't know if Grissom would be able to do the same. Let's face it, I knew from personal experience that he lived for the set-up; the gruesome little 'surprises' he staged in his lectures were proof of that. I think I actually held my breath when he made his first response…what's more, I'm pretty sure he knew it, but as it turned out I needn't have worried. Though his verbal contributions were peppered with strange and exotic anecdotes, he steered well clear of anything that might be judged as too much for dinner conversation.

I brought it up later, when we were walking back to the hotel. The streets of San Francisco were dappled with spots of summer rain; the sounds of the traffic hushed. The air had cooled considerably so we'd decided to let Lexie and Zach have use of the car while we meandered our way through the park. Other couples strolled and laughed as the sounds of a tenor sax rippled sweetly through the dark.

"Someone must be playing up ahead," he said, searching the path for the musician. "He's very good."

"Yes." The notes to 'Stardust' continued to play and I couldn't help but think how perfectly they suited the night. "Do you know this song?"

"A little. Nat King Cole, right?"

"Yes. It's one of Zach's favorites. He used to put it on the stereo on nights like this in the summer and he and Lexie would dance…" I smiled. "I used to love watching them. Boy, suddenly I'm very homesick."

"Well, the good news is that you'll be much closer to them with the transfer."

"Yes. I can visit anytime I'd like. I'm looking forward to it. I've been away for too long. What about you? You've been in Vegas for about four months. Homesick yet?"

"I miss the beaches. Used to surf until I took one dive too many and wrecked my knee but I still liked walking along the shores and swimming in the waves. I miss Sunday dinner at my mother's house."

I allowed myself the pleasure of trying to picture him there. "Family thing?"

"Yes. She holds a standing invitation to one and all but it's mostly just my cousins, their kids and my aunt and uncle. I used to man the grill."

"Sounds wonderful," I said sincerely. "I didn't have that growing up until I got placed with Lexie. You're very lucky."

He shook his head. "It's hard to believe you were adopted. You all seem very close."

"We are. I got lucky too. I don't know what I would have turned out like if it hadn't been for them. They're very special people. Oh, which reminds me, I wanted to thank you…for what you did earlier."

"Thank me?"

"Yes. I know it must have been the last thing you wanted to do but I'm so glad you were there to share dinner with us."

"I enjoyed myself, got to know you a little better; had a great meal and good company. I can hardly complain."

"Still…you were wonderful. I mean, the flight up to see me…the dinner. Not only did you put up with my family's incessant chatter and questions but you were sensitive enough to censor your comments when you were talking about your work. I really appreciate that."

"Ah. Well, I learned a long time ago that not everyone appreciates the beauty that is the bug regression timeline, or the charm of a perfectly executed autopsy."

I giggled softly. "Go figure."

He nudged me gently with his elbow. "Had you worried, didn't I?"

"Well…"

He chuckled. "Don't bother with the polite lie. The look on your face was enough to warn me to keep things light."

"That obvious, huh?"

He stopped in a small pool of light cast by one of the decorative streetlights to look straight at me. "Let's just say that you have a very expressive face."

There was a small stone wall lining that section of the park. I leaned back against it, still in a teasing mood, and folded my arms. "That's strange."

He shoved his hands in his pockets but took a step closer. "Why?"

I licked my suddenly dry lips. As always his nearness caused strange things to happen to my insides. "I've always been told I'm extremely difficult to read."

He shook his head, and came another step closer. "Maybe for some. Not for me. There are moments when I feel I know what you're thinking before you do."

"You seem sure of yourself," I said, my voice a little breathy, knowing I could have said the same thing about him.

"You're a passionate person. Your emotions run high when your heart is involved. It's not that difficult at all." He was really close now, so close I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes from my slumped position.

"Prove it," I challenged him softly. "What am I thinking right now?" My arms lost their fold and reached out to brace against the stones at my sides; my body language open and casual. My heart was beginning to pound. A part of me wondered if he could hear it. A part of me was demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing, but I couldn't help myself. I watched him intently, daring him to take advantage of my invitation.

He took his time answering, raising one hand to cup the back of my neck through the strands of my curls. "Dangerous thoughts."

My lips parted, barely moving as I said, "You sound so certain."

"I am." His thumb traced the line of my jaw…his touch so light I wondered briefly if it was really there or if I was imagining things.

"H-How?" I stuttered, almost afraid to breath for fear of wrecking the moment.

He leaned in, his lips almost meeting mine and whispered, "Because I've been thinking them too."

I remember there was rain; falling gently from the sky almost as hesitant as the first brush of his lips against mine; that the subtly spiced tang of his aftershave tickled my nose as I drew him closer. I remember gasping as he wrapped his arm around my lower back, trapping me against the hard stone wall and the swift invasion of his tongue into the smoky hot depths of my mouth. I can remember clutching at his shoulders, my skin crawling with need as I tilted my head to take him deeper, and all of it accompanied by the sultry tones of the sax in the mist. But mostly I remember how naturally we fit together and the heart-breaking realization that I'd never felt so alive before in my life than I was at that moment in his arms.

And when he pulled away endless minutes later, I suddenly remembered all of the reasons I promised myself we could be nothing more than friends and I know he was thinking the same.

We stared at each other brokenly; two people who understood how much they'd shared but had no idea how to go on from that point. I had my secrets…he had his doubts…it was hardly a solid foundation on which to build.

I buried my head against his chest, trying to hide from the truth but it found purchase in words that had to be said and there was no escaping it.

He sighed, enveloping me tighter in his embrace. "This isn't smart."

"No, it isn't but I'm finding it hard to care right now." I rubbed my cheek against his jacket, absently memorizing its feel and texture. "I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't but they don't measure up to the one reason why we should."

"Sara, I-I'm not very good at this. Relationships, I mean. I've – I've never…they don't work for me. I always end up screwing them up by saying the wrong thing…or being incapable of saying anything at all. I forget things and I sometimes get so obsessed with my research that I disappear into it for days at a time and I'm just too old to change. I could promise to try to change but it wouldn't be fair because I doubt I'd ever be able to keep it."

Knowing I could parrot most of what he'd just said, I whispered, "Then why did you come?"

"Because I couldn't stay away."

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," I said, holding fast when he tried to pull back.

"I'm sorry. I know this wasn't fair to either of us, but I had to see you." He dropped a kiss into my hair and when I shivered managed to pull back enough to see my face. I don't know what he read in the burning depths of my eyes but I know it wasn't good. "See, I'm screwing this up already. You're sad…and hurting and-I didn't mean for this to happen."

"But it did and…we have to figure out what to do about it."

"I don't know that there's anything we can do about it." He backed away, returning his hands to his pockets and paced a step or two before turning suddenly to say, "Sara-you scare the hell out of me."

His statement totally took me by surprise. "I-what?"

"You're the last person I think about before I go to bed and the first thought that enters my head when I wake. I sit in my kitchen, drinking coffee picturing you sitting on the stool across from me and it takes my breath away. I can't wait to get home from work to call you…to hear how your day went and to hear you laugh at one of my stupid jokes. I've never felt like this about anyone before."

"It's gotten so I can't sleep until I get your call. I can't tell you how much I've missed you since I left Vegas."

"We've got so much against us. The distance…the difference in our ages…it can't last, Sara."

I shook my head impatiently. "I don't care about any of that. It has no bearing on how we feel."

"Not to mention the fact that we're at totally different places in our lives right now," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "I just don't see how this could work. But when I'm near you…"

I nodded. "I know how you feel. It's the same for me and...I'm scared too. I know I'm not ready for this but I want it so much that I'm willing to risk it."

"And I'm not. I don't want to lose you, Sara and I have the worst feeling that if we…if we tried to build something here we'll end up destroying each other. Our friendship is too important to me. I couldn't bear it if I screwed this up. Sounds crazy, right?"

"No, sadly it doesn't." I swallowed the lump that had mysteriously gathered in my throat. "I'm very much afraid of the same thing. But you're not looking at this the right way. You're trying to make it something more than it is. Look, I'm not usually like this. I don't ask men I just met out for coffee. I don't have a lot of close friends because I don't bond easily. I tend to be very reserved and very careful about the people I let into my life because I've been hurt too many times to count by people I've trusted. I'm always on my guard, second-guessing everyone and everything around me. I don't know how you slipped under my radar and I don't care. I just know that you're here…now…and you make me happy…and I don't want you to go." I kissed his lips, trying to play the seductress but terrified that I was coming off as naïve and desperate. "Change your flight."

"Sara-"

"One night, Gil. Just one."

"And what if one night isn't enough?"

I actually laughed. "It won't be." And as quickly as the laughter rose, it died because it wasn't funny anymore. "We both know it won't be, but we're here and…" I took a deep breath before asking, "Does it matter?"

He took my lips again, stealing my breath as he muttered, "No…but only because I'm too weak to let it."


	12. Chapter 12

Adagio

Part XII

_I close my eyes and I find a way_

_No need for me to pray_

_I've walked so far_

_I've fought so hard_

_Nothing more to explain_

_I know all that remains_

_Is a piano that plays_

_Adagio_

How do I describe our first time together? How do I capture with words the ease in which we found each other in the night? The way we created one of the most beautiful memories I've ever had?

It was more than just the coming together of two bodies; it was the coming together of two souls. Two spirits who had seen the worst one person could do to another and managed to survive…managed somehow to keep hoping for better. The fusion of two people who understood just how rare it was to find someone with whom they could be themselves without fear of reprisal after years of feeling disconnected from the world

It didn't matter that we both had fear and doubts about what lay in the future. The minute we closed the door to the hotel room and he reached for me, all the negative emotional baggage we were toting melted at our feet, and for that stolen moment in time we became stronger for it.

It was honest and earthy and so, so, sensual. He learned my body with a patience that was staggering; delighting in my reactions to his teasing fingers and devilishly clever tongue. Though I clutched at him, my nails raking his back while I writhed beneath him, he refused to be drawn from his study, enjoying my madness as he quoted Shakespeare softly against my skin.

"_Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, / Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem_,'" he whispered huskily, his breath hot against my breast as he drew my hips higher against the plane of his thigh. "_At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, / Sland'ring creation with a false esteem_," he went on as his tongue lathed my nipple and his fingers stroked me below. He dragged the words against my flesh, drawing them out with wicked intent until his lips hovered where his fingers were making my body shake in mindless need. "_Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, / That every tongue says beauty should look so,_'" he finished drawling the last syllable and when his mouth found me in the most arduous of nether kisses, I was lost.

In his arms the intimacy failed to intimidate me. The leisurely travels of his hands on my skin made me feel worshipped, not gangly and awkward. His eyes and lips coaxed me with silent promises; I knew that if I let my guard down nothing could hurt me as long as he was there. And when he entered me the damaged little girl inside me felt whole for the first time in many, many years.

And if that was all there was…him and me in this room locked in each other's arms…then I could have seen a future for us. I could have planned and dreamed and promised but this was just an illusion of happiness and I'd stopped believing in fairytales long ago. Gil was only seeing what I let him see. I put the best parts of me on display when I was with him, taking great pains to hide anything 'abnormal' or 'compulsive'. I'd gotten very good at playing the role of 'Sara Sidle: Overachiever' and living in her world of perfect organization and strict personal discipline that I sometimes forgot about the person I was for seventeen years. 'The girl who's mother murdered her father,' had been conspicuously absent for such a long time that I'd almost forgot she'd existed, but any good student of psychology knew that there was only so much denial the mind could cope with before fighting back in any form available. The return of the nightmares was a warning that couldn't be ignored. They were more constant and vivid than they'd ever been and despite Lexie's supposition that work was the trigger, I was very much afraid that it was my 'friendship' with Gil that was fueling the matter.

Gil inspired feelings in me that I hadn't realized existed. Before I met him I honestly believed I'd never get married. I'd seen far too much of the negative side of love and 'wedded bliss' to ever let myself be entangled in that situation. Every book I'd ever read warned survivors of domestic violence about the dangers of repeating patterns and the difficulty that most survivors faced when it came to issues of trust and anger. Being exposed to so much at such an early age naturally skewed such a person's perspective. They either shut people out entirely or were much too permissive for their own good. They let some abuses go, comparing them to what they'd experienced in the past rather than to a 'normal' level of conduct thus promoting a cycle of violence to the point where they become victims over and over again. I'd promised myself that I'd never be a victim again and though I certainly didn't believe Gil would harm me in any way such as that he had the potential to hurt me very badly because I was extremely vulnerable to him on an emotional level. I often found myself acting contrary to the way my natural defenses would have me go. I wanted to trust him completely, without reservation and that notion was setting up an internal battlefield in my mind and heart that was tearing me apart.

And as for Gil…well, I believe that I finally figured out why he was so reluctant to even think beyond the present when it involved the two of us. He wasn't prevaricating even a little when he'd told me earlier that night he was scared. The heart-breaking truth was that he was terrified, not just of me but trusting his own feelings. He's always been very private…I think he's had to be to survive. I knew a little of his past, but not nearly enough to say that I truly 'knew' him. I do understand him though because I recognize bits of myself in his reasoning and in his actions. Though I didn't know the problems he'd faced in the past, one survivor recognized another; his defenses were high, his insecurities his tangible, breathing things.

I realized that night that he didn't believe I could care for him as much as I did and it wasn't because I was young or smart or too far away for us to see each other on a regular basis, though those are the excuses he'd given me. No, sadly, it's because he didn't feel worthy of my attention. He was seriously at a loss to explain why I'd be attracted to a man such as the one he believed himself to be. What I saw as intelligent, gentle, passionate and honorable, he saw as geeky, weak, obsessive and old-fashioned. I'm sure he thought I had some sort of a crush on him; an infatuation that would pass with familiarity and time…one that he refused to buy into out of some sense of self-preservation. The crazy thing was that sometimes, I wished he was right…that this thing between us was just a passing fancy that I could walk away from but in my heart I knew it was anything but. Somehow, in this strange course of events Gil and I had found each other and I was destined to ride this thing out until the end of the road. I didn't know what waited for us there but I knew the journey was going to be anything but easy.

Our first night together became one of several clandestine meetings. We told no one, afraid that any outside involvement or pressure would tip the precarious balance we'd found. Gil continued to be my 'mentor' and I…continued to be his 'long-distance chess partner,' I suppose. Actually, I'm not sure what he called me in front of his friends or if he mentioned me at all but it didn't matter. Sometimes he'd fly out to see me in San Francisco, others I'd join him in Vegas. A couple of times we even went so far as to meet up at a Forensic or Etymology convention. Other than the fact that a convention meant that he'd have his racing cockroaches in tow, it was a good. Somehow we managed to be friends and lovers without the 'entanglement' of a relationship and while the situation wasn't perfect at least it was ours.

Anyway, time passed and soon I was into my third month of academy training at SFPD. Because of my experience and the fact that I currently had a CSI Level I designation, the SFPD had created a unique position for me while I completed my basic training. During the course of a weekly rotation I had a challenging array of academy classes mixed with actual lab designated shifts where I not only worked with Trace but went out to assist on field assignments as well. This combination of training and case files left me with very little personal time but I found I had little desire to complain. It meant that my academy classes were scheduled over a period of six months rather than the original four that Ernshaw had alluded to in my interview but that aspect hardly made an impact in my determination to reach my goals. I was willing to be patient as long as I felt I was getting something out of it. Besides, I was learning a lot about myself in the process.

For example, most of my previous experience in lab work had involve chemical analysis of one sort of or another. Though I'd worked periodically with Trace, I'd worked it mostly from a hard science position, not really delving into the extended, more analytical side of that work. However, that ceased to be the case when I started working at SFPD. Computers were fast becoming a force to be reckoned with. More and more applications were being found for their use in forensics and I was there on the cutting edge. I don't know why exactly but I understood them very well; it was almost instinctual. Programming and setting up entry logs to organize information just sort of made sense to me so when I was able to combine my interest in that end of technology with my love for ciphers and data evaluation I filled a niche that really hadn't been explored at the San Francisco lab to that point. More than once, someone had dropped a file on my desk that had seemed to hit a dead end and asked if I could take a look through it. While it was true that there were many people on staff that had much more experience in forensic investigation than me, there were few that were able to pick a file apart like I could. My science background was strong enough to deal with the various technical reports from the different sections of the lab so I could tell if results were skewed or unsubstantiated in some way and my 'unique' way of organizing details often uncovered avenues and patterns that others sometimes missed. In the end, though there were a couple of files I couldn't advance, I usually found something that triggered another avenue to investigate. Some people referred to it as genius. Most just thought I was a freak of nature (strange how little things change, isn't it?) but the difference between work and high school was I was an admired for being a freak.

I also discovered I had a passion for extreme situations and risky challenges. I thought the academy athletics and defense training would be boring and arduous…little did I know it would bring out a side of me that I hadn't known existed. I lived for scaling walls, and handling fire arms and the weaponless defense classes. Who knew I'd get such a kick at being outside my comfort zone and exceeding my personal expectations. There was just something about, 'putting it all on the line,' that excited and liberated me in a way nothing else could. When an opportunity came up for us to take an optional training section with the local military base, I jumped at it, eager to pit my recourses against what they had to offer. That week I did something I'd never in a million years thought I'd ever have the courage to do. I, along with the two other cadets who had joined me in military session, parachuted out of an airplane. What's more, I loved every heart-stopping, exhilarating moment of it.

When Gil came to visit me that weekend, it was all I could talk about. That night, as we were in my kitchen, sipping a rich, flavorful red wine, he added the finishing touches to our meal while I told him all about it. I don't know how he put up with me as I went on and on about the flight and the thrilling jump but he did, a sweetly patient grin on his lips.

"Have you ever done it?" I asked, my cheeks flushed with excitement.

He nodded, adding a little more teriyaki sauce to the stir-fry he was creating. "When I was twenty-five, a group of us from the university booked a plane and took the plunge. Or at least that was the idea. I jumped and so did another guy but the others bailed."

I laughed from pure delight. I hadn't expected a positive answer from him on that question! "And did you love it?"

He stopped cooking for a second and raised his gaze to mine, his blue eyes sparkling. "Every single moment of it. Haven't had a chance to do it since…and I'm getting a little older now so I may have to confine my thrill seeking to amusement park rides."

I saluted him. "Oooo, Dr. Grissom, you do have an adventurous side to you, don't you? Surfing, roller coasters, and now skydiving. Who knew?"

He shrugged, taking the question very seriously. "I don't think there's another person on the planet that does except you." He made a couple more passes with the spatula, gave himself a shake and then took the wide pan off the grill. "I think this is done. Why don't we eat on the terrace?" He made an effort to smile at me and I smiled back, letting him change the subject to a happier topic, but some of the enjoyment of the evening faded for me at that point.

Later that night as I lay spooned against him in bed, I couldn't help thinking about his words. Mind you, it wasn't so much what he'd said but what he'd left unsaid that disturbed me. Was he really that lonely? He didn't seem to be on the surface but then most people would say the same for me and really nothing was further from the truth. What friends I'd made since leaving college were still back in California and though I'd met a couple of people with whom I'd begun a friendship Gil was still far and above my closest confidant outside my family. It really bothered me that I seemed to the only person who filled the same role for him.

I hugged his arm closer to my chest, trying to send him comforting thoughts as he slept. I didn't bother trying to join him; I knew any attempt would be a useless exercise. Early on in our weekends together, I'd been so concerned over having another nightmare that I'd sort of psyched myself out of sleeping altogether. While it was true that I would close my eyes and rest when we shared a bed, I didn't actually let go enough to drift off. You'd think that that sort of mental gymnastics would have done me in but strangely enough my body got used to going without sleep for a night or two and I sort of just went with it.

So, when the phone rang somewhere around two am I was instantly alert. I reached out, grabbing it on the first ring and carried the cordless receiver into the front room, trying not to wake Gil in the process. "Hello?"

"Sara? Sorry to bother you but I need you at the lab ASAP."

"Matt?" Matthew Lambert was the dayshift supervisor on my team.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing at the lab so late?"

"That is the question, isn't it? Look, I need you. How soon can you get here?"

My eyebrows rose at the demand but since I'd never had an unkind word from the man I let it go. "Um…I've, ah, got company. I'd have to um-"

"I'm sorry about that. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. Listen, I really don't want to discuss this on the phone but I need you here. Please, Sara."

"Okay. I'll um-give me ten minutes to change and make my excuses and I'll head in."

"Good. Main meeting room…as soon as you can."

I hung up, totally confused. I was being called in? What the hell was this all about?

"Was that the lab?" Grissom asked form the bedroom.

I walked back to lean in the doorway. "Yes. Sorry. I was hoping it wouldn't wake you."

"Hazard of the trade," he assured me. "I hear a phone ring in the middle of the night and I

assume the worst. Standard Operating Procedure."

"Well, it's a first for me, let me tell you."

"Anything I can do?"

"That's the thing. I'm not sure. Matt was really-vague. Wouldn't tell me a thing. It's really bizarre. I'm sorry about this. Will you be okay?"

"Sara, how many times have I gotten called in and had to leave you? Go. Don't think about it."

He was right. More than one of our weekends had been interrupted by a need for a personal consultation at a scene by Gil. "Okay. Okay, thanks. I'll call as soon as I know what's going on."

A/N: Sonnet quotes taken from Sonnet #127 by William Shakespeare


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: When reading this chapter, please note that this story is taking place just as computers and DNA testing were beginning to take hold as iconic standards of investigation in forensic science and that the internet as we know it was still in its earliest stages._

Adagio

Part XIII

Twenty-three minutes later I was clipping on my identification badge while I made my way through the corridors of the lab. It struck me as being eerily quiet. A janitor scrubbed, a few techs compared results but the rest of the space had little or no traffic. That far into the night shift there should have been a reasonable amount of personnel scurrying about but I only saw one or two bodies manning the floor. Much was explained when I reached the meeting room.

There must have been fifteen bodies crowded around a table meant for ten. A map had been pinned to the wall and eight sections of the grid had been circled in red. There was a lot of chatter going on so no one really noticed my entrance.

I spotted Matt sitting in the corner of the room and worked my way over to his side, sliding through the press of bodies while trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Those people were deep in concentrated thought and I was loath to disturb them for fear I'd cause them to lose whatever avenue they were currently exploring. Matt, too, was heavily involved in conversation so I waited politely for him to acknowledge me while I scanned the room, looking for clues as to the nature of the problem. The atmosphere was thick with tension and one look at the surface of the table told me why.

Multiple crime scene photos were laid out in sequential order, grouped according to the case file to which they belonged. Matt realized I was there before I was able to get a really good look at the pictures but it was clear from first glance that each of them was a study in blood and death.

Matt swiveled about in his chair, greeting me with a crooked little half smile. "Sara. Thanks for coming in." He swiped at his coffee with a big, meaty paw of a hand and downed half of the cold contents in a gulp. Attractive, in his early thirties, he was a natural leader who had earned the respect and admiration of those people he worked with. He reminded me of a football player; his movements were broad and always dripping with energy but his voice was always as calm as could be. The combination was really disconcerting until you got used to it. Though Matthew Lambert was relatively new in his role as lab supervisor, he undoubtedly had a talent for running a tight shift; his results proved that time and again.

I almost laughed at his greeting. I hadn't realized I'd been given a choice whether or not to make an appearance. "It sounded important," I said easily, moving closer when he made room for me at the table's edge.

"It is." He reached out, indicating the case file in front of us and one across the table. "We had a case come in tonight that has opened a huge can of worms."

Though I had a good idea what he was going to say, I let him lead me. "What are we dealing with?"

"Multiple rapes and murders, mirroring a set that apparently crossed our desks last year at this time. A case that as yet remains unsolved." The tone of his voice was a little impatient and though I'm sure he tried to keep the irritation out of it, he didn't succeed. Unfortunately, Matt had been put in the position of having to 'clean' up after the last supervisor of this branch of the SFPD labs. The previous person in charge had let a lot of things slide in order to maintain a high 'solve' rate on the cases assigned to him. Sloppy techniques and short-cuts had been standard practice before Matt took the reigns. These 'practices' had been the cause of more than one embarrassing trial dismissal and from the looks of what I was seeing spread out through the room, we were probably facing more of the same.

He pointed at the set of photos in the middle of the table and then gestured at the ones farther down. "And these two files mirror another one that I didn't even know existed until I started making some calls." He turned and pointed at the map behind me. "The locations where we found the bodies are marked on the grid. I didn't want to go in detail over the phone because we're trying to keep this latest development as quiet as possible. We don't want another Zodiac on our hands."

I swallowed hard. The Zodiac Killer had stalked the city and its surrounding regions for many years, leaving clues through coded letters to the police department and newspapers as the body count grew. Despite many years of investigation, the identity of the Zodiac Killer was still as much of a mystery as it had been from the first murder, a fact that didn't sit well with any of the people who had put their lives on the line to try to solve it. "Is that what you think we're dealing with?"

He shifted uncomfortably, moving into my personal space. "There are…similarities…that cannot be ignored."

Using the excuse of studying the grid, I moved subtly away. In the past couple of weeks I'd become aware that Matt seemed to have some sort of romantic interest in me and though I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I certainly didn't want to encourage him in anyway. Even if Grissom hadn't been in the picture, there were rules about supervisors getting romantically involved with their team members and I was smart enough to stay far away from that sort of circumstance. "Are there letters?" I asked. "Codes?"

If he had noticed my little maneuver, he didn't show it. "Codes? No, not exactly." He reached forward again, pulling a bagged scrap of paper out of its place and presenting it to me. "But this was found at the latest site."

I took the object from his grasp, my fingers careful not to crease the document. It had a tattered edge; in fact it looked as if it had been ripped in haste. The paper was ruled; the quality cheap; much like you'd find in a child's exercise book and on it in exact, formal lettering were a series of numbers and equations followed by the following script:

_Veiztu hvé rísta skal?  
Veiztu hvé ráða skal?  
Veiztu hvé fá skal?  
Veiztu hvé freista skal?  
Veiztu hvé biðja skal?  
Veiztu hvé blóta skal?  
Veiztu hvé senda skal?  
Veiztu hvé sóa skal?_

I frowned at it, not able to translate the text but willing to make a guess on its origin. "It's Scandinavian or Early Germanic, isn't it?"

Matt nodded. "That was Melissa's opinion too," he told me, indicating a light haired woman seated farther down the table. He tapped a photo up and to the right of the other one I'd examined. "This symbol would appear to validate that assumption."

A thick, triple triangle with its points interwoven, had been carved into the floor by the head of the woman in the picture. "That's a…ah…a…Valknut, which roughly translates to, 'Knot of the slain.' It was considered a symbol of Odin's power to confuse men's minds in battle or alternatively, clear them for victory…and I think it's also reported to be related to um, religious practices surrounding death." My mouth twisted. "I'm a little rusty on my Norse Mythology. Haven't really kept up with it since I took that course in my second year at Harvard."

Matt grinned grimly. "Currently you're heads and tails above the rest of us and that's one of the reasons I called you in. We're about to put that computer you call a brain to work and try to catch this guy before he finishes his quota for this year." He scruffed up his brush cut and rolled his shoulders back . "We think he really slipped up here. We've gotten less than nothing according to the two previous files so we're hoping we can take his little mistake and string him up by his balls."

"Him? Is that a definite or are you just using the formal pronoun?"

"It's an assumption based on the rapes, though no semen was found at the scene or in the victims."

_And therefor no obvious DNA__, _I finished silently in my head. "So we've got…what? Seven bodies so far?"

"No. Eight. And expecting a ninth soon," he said as he stood and gestured me into his chair.

I smiled at the curtesey but didn't take it right away because I was thinking through what he'd said. "Nine? Nine is a very important number in Norse mythology."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Mythical signifigance, if I'm not mistaken. I know there's um…nine worlds supported by Yggdrasil. Nine heavenly realms. Several battles and poems that detail nine incidents. Nine daughters of one of the gods…" I looked down at the scrap of paper, doing a quick double check. "Nine points to a Vaknut." I sat abruptly. "Sorry, it's just when you said nine…it brought to mind one of the lectures I attended. I think the number three is pretty significant too but I'd have to check."

He placed a hand on my shoulder and invaded my space again. "Don't apologize. That's exactly where I see you heading on this one. I need a lot of research done quickly if we're going to have any chance to catch this guy before he shuts down." Just as I was really starting to feel uncomfortable with his proximity, he pulled back, suddenly all business. "Okay, here's how it pans out. The pattern seems to be three murders per year, three different dumping spots, no tells…until tonight. We've already got a line on someone at the university who's working on a translation for us. He thinks it's Scandanavian too."

"But no other scripts were found at the other sites?"

"No."

"How thoroughly were the bodies examined"

Matt rubbed tired eyes. "We're looking into that right now. I'm not sure. I do know that tonight's victim will be thoroughly gone over for any more clues but I wasn't around for the other autopsies. Harper and Tavitts will be covering that end."

I nodded, recognizing the officers Matt was referring too but already jumping ahead in my thought process. I remember looking around the table, confused, trying to figure out what was bothering me then it came to me. "Matt, I can see some obvious similarities so I get the fact that you could link them on those qualities. All of the women in these pictures have dark hair and green eyes and they were all strangled but…um…that's where the similarites end. There are major differences in how each woman was-disected. That really strikes me as odd. Most serials find a signature and stick with it by the time they've esculated to murder, don't they?"

"I believed that to be the case too. In fact, I'm pretty certain that manner of thought is behind the reason that these cases have never been linked before. Get this. I was in autopsy with the first woman, when the second body was wheeled in and the medical examiner looked over at the other guerny and said, 'These two could be twins.' It was really strange. Totally grabbed my attention. And when I saw the liturgure marks…the patterns were so similar I had to look into it further. The second body dump wasn't technically in our jurisdiction. Joe Eagles and Tony Gray," he gestured to the two men standing in the corner of the room comparing lab reports, "were coming back from another scene when the call went out. They were the closest so they took it."

"In other words, you're saying that the second victim wouldn't have gone through our station and if she hadn't you wouldn't have crossed paths with her like you did."

"Exactly. This connection was a product of dumb luck."

"Don't knock it. Strange cooincidencs like that are often the reason we catch these guys in the first place, right? They can plan for everything except the unexpected. How did you find the others?"

"Medical Examiner's data base. Had the computer run a search for cases with similar attributes. The ME called me at 11:32 pm with two matches. Been here ever since trying to pull together whatever we can since. By 1:20 am we had another four. So far, we've gone over the files of each of the cases…lab reports…whatever…but aside from what you already know, we haven't gotten any farther ahead. We want to reinterview the people who found the bodies, the cops assigned to the individual cases and go back to the dumpsites. Now that the cases are linked, we're hoping shake loose something that was over-looked. In the meantime, I want you to compile a comparison study between the vicitims. I understand you've got a solid background in working with data entry and spreadsheets?"

"Yes. I spent a lot of time in the records department when I first started with the force in Tamales Bay."

"Good. I need someone with a forensics background putting this together. I need everything, Sara. Similarities, differences…hell, set up a column for your own impressions. Anything that might help. We need to be able to see all of the evidence or lack of evidence side by side as it were. Melissa and Doug are working the research angle too. Compare notes. I'm trying to cover all the bases as thoroughly as possible. We need to establish a timeline and a pattern quickly so we can intercept. I want to ferret out his next site and nab this sonuvabitch before he knows what hit him."

I pushed my curls back from my face and tightened my ponytail. "Okay, Matt, I'll try my best."

He gave my shoulder a squeeze. "I know you will"

I cleared my throat. "Um, what can I take to get started?"

He shook his head. "We'll get you set up in here. You can use the that computer in the corner so that we can all have access to the files while you're working through them."

"Alright. Let's start with the basics. Do we have positive id's on the victims?"

"All except three. The two victims that came in to us - no one's come forth yet and no criminal records on file - and…wait." He scanned the groupings of information. "That one," he said, pointing to the one at the far end of the table. "She's still listed as a Jane Doe."

"Okay. I'll get started right away…" my voice trailed off as I caught sight of a full body shot of victim number four. "Matt?"

"Yes?"

"Does she…it looks as though her…she was disembowled, wasn't she?"

"Yes," he replied without inflection.

"There…there doesn't seem to be enough blood around her." I scanned the other photos of the scene. "There would have been spray and pools of fluid and while her clothes are coated and her skin is tainted, there doesn't seem to be enough of it at the scene. Same with number two." That poor woman had had her chest sliced open and I was guessing her heart removed. A quick glance at her file confimed that gruesome fact, but it hadn't been taken from the scene like a suvenier as one would expect. According to the file and supporting pictures it had been sliced into sections and then left with the victim.

"Yeah, we caught that too. We think he's raping and killing them in one place and then taking their bodies and dumping them in another. He'd pretty much have to. All the dumping spots have been in public venues except two. He wouldn't have the time to slice them up if he'd killed them there."

"So we're not just looking for the next dumping site. We need the kill site as well."

"Yes. One which may proove impossible to find if we can't make a connection between the victims and fast."

I put the photo back on the table and casually happened to glance at the next one. Surprise had me sucking in a sharp breath.

"What?" Matt asked when I didn't say anything.

My fingers traced the picutre absently, as I studied the girl's face. It was obvious from the maggots feasting at the corners of her mouth that her body had lain outdoors for a while before it had been discovered. The maggots, however, were not what had captured my attention. No, it was the giant beetles resting on her eyes that had made me pause. "I know someone who'd be very interested in seeing this photo," I said, finally pulling myself out of the trance I'd settled into, "Remember how I told you on the phone I had company this weekend?"

"Yes?"

"How would you feel if I asked him to come take a look at some of this stuff?"

"I guess that would depend on the reason."

I passed him the photo."He just happens to be an expert in the field of forensic entomology." When Matt looked at me blankly, I clarified. "Bugs and death."

"A bug guy? Then I guess I'd be really interested. Who is he?"

"Dr. Gil Grissom. He's-"

"Grissom's staying with you? Well shit." He clipped the should of the man he'd been talking to earlier with the back of his hand. "Grissom's here!" he told the other man fatalistically. He turned back to me, suddenly energized. "I was going to give him a call right after I finished with you. Got his name from Toby here when were discussing the bugs."

I powered up the computer and settled my stuff on the table beside it. "He's in town to deliver a graduate seminar lecture on Monday at the university. He's supposed to fly back to Vegas right after but I'm sure he'd come in if I asked."

Matt was extremely pleased with this turn of events. "Yes! Yes, call him! See if he'll give us a hand."

"Will do." I strode to the nearest phone and dialed home.

He picked up on the second ring. "Sidle residence."

"Gil, it's Sara. I need you." I kept my tone light and unaffected realizing belatedly that I could have worded that request better.

"And by that I'll assume you mean in a business sense and not in a more intimate manner."

I'm sure I blushed because Matt shot a very peculiar look my way before I could stop it. I pushed through that little awkward moment as gracefully as I could. "That's correct," I replied formally. "We've got bodies and bugs. Care to help us out?"

"Bodies and bugs? You're not just playing with me, are you Sara?" His voice had dropped to a husky little drawl that danced along my nerve endings with powerful steps.

"No," I told him dryly, the heat in my cheeks climbing.

Gil's sardonic chuckle told me he could sense my discomfort at his response. He took pitty on me answering, "I'm already dressed. Be there in ten."


	14. Chapter 14

Adagio

Part XIV

_If you know where to find me_

_If you know how to reach me_

_Before this light fades away_

_Before I run out of my faith_

_Be the only man to say_

_That you'll hear my heart_

_That you'll give your life_

_Forever you'll stay…Adagio_

When Grissom arrived at the San Francisco lab twenty minutes later I have to admit that I was so deep into my calculations and data organization that I didn't notice him at first, but the others did.

When I realized that the studious atmosphere of the meeting room was quickly dissolving into low voiced conversation and movement, I looked up automatically to see who or what had caused it. Have to admit, my stomach did this swishy-swirly thing when our eyes met and I felt myself smiling before I even realized I was doing it. I got up from my chair abruptly to meet him.

"So, you made it."

He smiled at me in a slightly amused way. "Yes. Without incident. What exactly did you want me to see?"

It was suddenly all business, and while he treated me as politely as ever and wasn't afraid to be human, there was a different rhythm to our language and movements, a fact which suited me perfectly. If anything, it was almost reassuring. I had a very no-nonsense approach to my work and to my studies. Grissom seemed to instinctively tune into that now that we were both in the public eye. It was very obvious in the way he listened as I brought him up to date on our case that he not only respected me as a person but as a scientist as well. It was sad to say that I'd met few people who did that readily without me having to prove myself to them in some form or other. If my credentials didn't intimidate them, my youth unnerved them. It was a feeling I'd gotten accustomed to over the years. Despite the fact that we'd never officially worked together before, Grissom showed none of that; though, I'm sure if I'd proven myself to be inept he would have found a way to work around me to do what he needed to do. My respect for him grew exponentially in return.

Later I would I wonder if I shouldn't have been wary of the way we played chameleons from our private and public lives but at that point it didn't occur to me to worry about it.

"So," I concluded, "we're in the middle of doing some research and organization while some of the members of the team are going over sites and evidence to see what, if anything, might have been missed. But here…this is the reason I called you in. I wanted your take on these." I pulled the pictures of various dissections of the victims, purposefully leaving the one with the beetles for last.

He studied that one for a long moment and then asked, "Are these in the order in which the victims were found?"

"We're not sure yet. That's something I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

"I've seen this before," he told me, pointing to the beetles on the last victim's eyes. "It's ritualistic."

I nodded. "That was my impression too." I hesitated.

"You have a guess?" he asked.

"I think – I think it's occult based. And there's something familiar about it but I haven't been able to place it yet."

He nodded, not at all surprised by my assertion. "While I think it's a little too early to run with that assumption, you might well be right. Bugs, blood and sacrifice have been connected since man has walked the earth. There's definitely a pattern of detail and consciousness to each of these kills. First impressions tell me that your supervisor was right to look at these cases as a group; that he's got a strong hypothesis…but I'm leery of getting ahead of the evidence." He considered the photos again and then put them back on the table to flip through the files. "That being said, I must say that the timing of the kills is very interesting indeed."

"What do you mean?"

"According to the estimated TOD's listed, and the fact that all eight of the victims were found in the same twenty-four hour period…just…three years apart, there's a strong possibility of an occult tie-in." He pointed at the dates which I hadn't had time to get to yet and I got his meaning right away.

"You don't think we're going to stop him from killing his ninth victim do you?" I asked, my stomach churning.

"No. I think she's already dead."

"We better go talk to Matt."

Matt was in the middle of a phone call when I rapped on his door but he waved us in and held up a finger for patience while he finished up. "I don't give a good flying-" he stopped himself before finishing that colourful phrase out of deference to my presence, and continued with, "Look, I want your ass in my office before the next thirty minutes are up or I'm going to raise such a stink you'll wish your butt never made contact with the supervisor's chair of this department. Am I being clear enough, Bertam? Do you fully understand how serious I am? Good." He slammed the phone home, released a fairly irate breath and managed to bring his temper under control before looking up at us. "Sorry," he said shortly. "Just a little housecleaning."

Deciding not to pursue that end any further, I made the introductions. "Lab Supervisor, Matthew Lambert, Dr. Gil Grissom. Grissom specializes in physical and biological sciences."

Matt pumped Grissom's hand heartily. "Yes. Of course. The entomologist." A grin split his face and he nodded at me. "See? Now we're getting somewhere. Thank-you for coming in Dr. Grissom."

"Grissom is fine, thanks. I'm pleased to help in any capacity I can."

Matt beamed at me again. "That's the attitude. That's the team spirit we need if we're going to stop this monster in his tracks before he takes another life," he said, sounding more like a football coach than a cop. He must have seen something in my expression because he stopped short and his tone flattened like paved asphalt. "What? Did we get another body?"

"No but-"

"Just say it, Sara."

"Matt…Grissom took a look at the files and he…well, tonight's Halloween."

"Yeah. It is. So?"

"It appears that all of the victims so far were killed…at least according to the coroner's estimations…in the three days preceding Halloween. It also looks like their bodies were found before sunrise the morning after Halloween."

Matt slumped back in his chair, the back springs creaking in protest as he did. "Damn."

"It's not an absolute," Grissom told him, "but there is a strong possibility that the best we can hope for in this case is to apprehend the killer when he makes his last body dump."

"Yeah. Provided we can figure out where the hell that's going to be." Matt gave himself a shake. "All right. We're prepared for that eventuality, but until we find a body we're going to work it like whoever his next target was is still alive. That gives us just under twenty-four hours. Where would you like to start?"

Grissom leaned in. "You've got others doing research. Is there a uniform available to take me to the place where the eighth victim was found?"

"The one with the beetles?"

"Yes. It's the freshest scene. I'd like to look at that one…and the seventh victim's location too if there's time."

"No problem. I'll set that up right away." Matt picked up the phone again and made the necessary arrangements and then stood to put on his coat. "I'll escort you to the scenes, Grissom. A black and white will shadow us. Sara, I'm expecting that call from the professor any time now. The switchboard will patch it through to the meeting room when it comes in."

"I'll be ready," I assured him. "Good luck."

The two men went off down one corridor and I went back to my make-shift work area determined to do what I could on my end of things. My fingers flew over the keyboard, listing information from the files in the neatly ordered and organized columns I'd set up before Grissom had arrived at the station. When the phone beside me rang forty-five minutes later, I jumped. The ringer was set to its loudest position and I'd been concentrating so hard that it cut right through me. I snatched at it, trying to finishing typing the line I'd been entering so I wouldn't lose my place and answered, "Sara Sidle."

"Hello, it's Tobin Cressler from the university calling. I have the translation you're waiting for."

"Oh good. Let me just clear to a new screen. I'd like to take notes on it if it's alright."

"Yes, certainly."

I clicked and called. "Okay, professor. I'm ready."

"It shouldn't have taken me this long but I'm at home and…well, I was sure I recognized it but I wanted to be certain so I had to go through a couple of books to confirm my assumption. It's a stanza from a very old text called the _Hávamál_. I don't know if you are familiar with it?"

"I believe we studied sections of it when I was in college, but not in any great detail."

"Well, its name translates roughly to, "_Sayings of the High One_," and is a combination of poems centred around _Odin."_

That was a name I recognized readily. "_Odin_ being the head god in Norse paganism, right?"

"Exactly. Various parts of the poem deal with lessons of conduct and ritual but this particular stanza is from the section of the poem entitled, '_Rúnatal_ or _Óðins Rune Song_.'"

"Runes…as in the stones?"

"In part. More the language of the stones and its mystical properties. The _Rúnatal_ is a section of the _Hávamál_ where Odin reveals the origins of the _runes_, or of _secret knowledge_. It translates much like this:

_Do you know how you must cut them?  
Do you know how you must interpret?  
Do you know how you must colour?  
Do you know how you must try?  
Do you know how you must invoke?  
Do you know how you must sacrifice?  
Do you know how you must send?  
Do you know how you must kill?"_

I stared at the screen, re-reading what I'd typed, chilled.

I must have stared for quite a while because Tobin Cressler prompted me with, "Did you get all of that?"

"Yes, professor. I did, thank-you."

He cleared his throat. "It's interesting to note that the original texts refer to Odin sharing the mysteries of the runes language and their spiritual properties, teaching the ways of the stones and the details of creating them but that this particular section of text was often connected to_Völvan_ ritual in particular the rites of reanimation and divination."

_Reanimation! What the hell were we dealing with here?_ "Wait…um…_Völva…_the term sounds familiar. A _Völva_ was the Norse equivalent of a shaman…a wise woman with special gifts for healing…prophecy…a sorceress?"

"In other words, a witch. Yes. Quite so. Very good. In fact, while it is true that women had filled that role in its various capacities through the history of many cultures it is believed that the _Völvas_ of Norse mythology were the mothers of what we now recognize as the Wiccan faith. Many of the rites and observances that modern Wiccans follow have roots in _Völvan_ cultural beliefs and rituals; not surprising since tales of the _Völvas_ were wide-spread through Europe and other parts of the world touched by Norse conquest. The _Völvas _were highly respected, alternately admired or feared for their insights and powers. They were considered honored guests of kings and gods alike…looked upon as metaphysical warriors and talisman of future conquests. The rise of Christianity changed much of that and they became outcasts…ridiculed for their practices…persecuted in fact…but not abolished. They simply moved…underground as it were and through the turning of the centuries evolved into the various sects of what we now recognize as the Wiccan faith including both its light and dark sects and its various reincarnations along that theme."

"In other words, the occult."

"Yes. The root of the word, 'occult' means "hidden". Some people stretch it to mean, 'hidden knowledge' and believe that only those gifted with heightened sensitivity are able to see or connect with that hidden knowledge. However, since the rise of Chrisianity it has come to take on another meaning as well, covering those practices that are not approved of by religious authorities, such as, astrology, casting spells, consulting with spirits, magic, witchcraft and spiritism. There are many that believe that such practices as Ouija boards, tarot cards, astrology charts, contacting the dead, séances thrive today, arguably because they are considered to be practices frowned on by organized Christianity and thus have the allure of the forbidden."

I nodded along with the professor's commentary, despite the fact that he couldn't see me, typing furiously as I held the receiver perched between my cheek and my shoulder. Though I'd read much of what he'd just told me in text books and the like it was beneficial to my purposes of organizing my data to hear it again in concise reference to the case. In fact, something clicked in my brain when he mentioned astrology and I re-read what I'd typed to see if I could trigger something else. My eyes scanned the text_…tarot cards, astrology charts, contacting the dead…_I stopped there, my heart pounding. "Just a moment, professor. I just want to check something. Can you hold?"

"Yes, of course." Though there was an edge of fatigue to his deep baritone, eagerness was the dominant tone that came through.

I flipped through the items on my desk top but didn't find what I needed. I looked back over my shoulder to the conference table and spied the evidence bag. Rather than put down the phone, I tried to reach it without letting go of the receiver and almost strangled myself in the process. With a muted curse I dropped the phone on the desk, got up and retrieved the ripped notebook page on which the stanza of the _Hávamál_ and the strange numbers and equations had been written. I studied it silently for a second and then decided to follow up on a hunch. "Professor Cressler?"

"Yes?"

"Firstly, thank you for spending so much time with me today. I think you've helped advance our understanding of this case significantly. What's more, I have a bad feeling we may need your help in future."

"You have it. No problem. It's not often my speciality is brought into modern times in such an interesting format."

"Thanks again. I have one last question for you. When Matt Lambert called, did he mention the figures on the scrap that they found at the scene?"

I could hear papers shifting. He must have been checking his notes. "No. Just the translation."

"Well, there's a series of numbers and equations. Nine to be exact. I've seen something like this before but…do you know anyone who's into astrology?"

"As a matter of fact…yes. Yes I do."

I bit my lip, trying not to get ahead of myself. "I would really appreciate you getting in contact with him. I need to speak with him as soon as possible. I have something I'd like him to see."

"I don't see that being a problem. The person I'm thinking of is my wife. She's been up since I got the call earlier tonight." There was a brief pause in the conversation while muted talk sounded in the background then the professor's voice came back on line. "Can you join us for breakfast?"


	15. Chapter 15

Adagio

Part XV

It was a little more than two hours later when I tromped into the station, tired but a lot more clear on what we were dealing with. My meeting with the Cresslers had been very informative indeed and I had a lot of information to impart. Matt and Grissom had beaten me back to the lab and were eating breakfast sandwiches along with some of the others when I entered the meeting room.

Matt nodded at me, swallowing his food before speaking. "Sara. You're back."

"Just," I replied, dropping my collection of papers in front of the empty chair between Matt and Grissom. Grissom smiled at me and I returned it, unconsciously dropping a hand on his shoulder in greeting before turning to size up the coffee situation. I tilted my head at the pot in the corner of the room. "That fresh?"

"Yes," Matt answered, "but Allanby made it. Take your chances."

"If it's hot and caffeinated I'll make do." I poured my cup and grimaced at the slightly burnt smell. One sip told me it was as bitter as I had expected. I dumped two more sugar cubes into the black mixture than I usually did, gave it a stir and took it back to my chair. "So, how'd you two make out?"

"Not well. There was little left at the dumpsite that hadn't been trampled or contaminated beyond use. We did find something of interest, though." Matt pulled an evidence bag from a miniscule grouping and passed it to me. Sealed inside the plastic were a small pile of wooden discs with what I now recognized as symbols from the Elder Futhark Runes Alphabet; the alphabet legend proclaimed had been given to mankind through the suffering of Odin himself.

"Rune stones. Somehow, I'm not surprised to see them considering the other information I've gathered. Did you count them?"

"Twenty-one," Grissom answered. "We're three short in this set."

My eyebrows rose, impressed. "He's right," I told Matt. "There should be twenty-four hand-carved tiles cut from the same oak branch, carved in the ancient language of runes and dyed red with the blood of either the _Völva_ who created them or the chosen sacrifice." I fingered the tiles through the plastic. "My guess is that this stain will be a match to the victim's blood. I assume you've already asked the coroner to start looking for them?"

"Yes," Matt replied. "We called it in as soon as Grissom found the stones and did his count."

"On both bodies?"

Grissom looked at me sharply. "You think that's necessary?"

"Yes. In fact…we may find stones belonging to nine sets before we're through." I briefly detailed the telephone conversation I'd had with Tobin Cressler and the history he gave me with regard to the _Völvan _aspect of Norse life and then imparted the new information. "There may be a need to exhume those other bodies, Matt, but we'll wait and see if the coroner finds the missing runes in the bodies we already have." I gulped another bit of coffee, and my stomach rolled a little. The Cresslers had insisted on stuffing me with eggs and waffles and I was just starting to feel the effects. "While you guys were playing find the runes, I was playing a little game of connect the dots. The symbol you found, carved into the floor beside one of the victims…"

"The _Valknut_?"

"Yes." I looked up at Matt. "Remember how I said it had nine points? That nine and three were very powerful numbers in Norse Mythology?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, this symbol unites nine and three and was often inscribed on larger rune stones to mark the passing of religious death rituals. It is considered to be a symbol of Odin himself, used to impart special knowledge and power when used by one gifted with sight into the hidden realms of the spiritual world." I swallowed more of the coffee, willing the caffeine to work through my system faster. "The Cresslers think that the person responsible might be trying to use these victims as a portal for mystical and spiritual enlightenment."

"Okay, so we're looking at some kook who's carving up young women in search for some higher knowledge or power. A real psycho," Matt blustered, his opinion of the occult obvious from the scorn in his voice. "A real sonuvabitch."

"Actually, Matt, while it's true that there may be a man serving as an accomplice to all this there is the very real possibility that we're dealing with a woman."

"That would make more sense," Grissom put in after a moment's consideration.

"Really? Even when you consider the rapes?" Matt looked totally blind-sided.

"Yes. However grotesque it might seem to us, the rapes might be only secondary to the true purpose of these kills. They're more a means of gaining complete power over the 'tool' being used for the rite rather than a means to satisfy a sexual appetitive of that nature. If we go by what little we know so far, then it's logical to assume that there is a woman behind all of this not a man. In Norse history it was the women who filled the roles of spiritual leaders and guides; women who foretold victories and defeats…women who doctored the sick and counseled the populace. Men didn't dabble in these areas. In fact, while it was a respectable occupation for a woman it was a disgrace for a man to do so." I sighed and pulled the photos I'd borrowed from the manila envelop I'd used to transport them to the Cressler's home and spread them out. "While Professor Tobin Cressler is an expert in Early Germanic and Norse studies, his wife, Mariah, has other interests. She's also a professor at the University. She holds a Doctorate in Metaphysics and two undergraduate degrees; one in Anthropology specializing in early civilizations, the other in Religious studies with an emphasis on Early folklore and Mystic Studies. Oh, and toss in a minor in Astrology." I allowed myself a tired chuckle and rubbed my eyes. "She's one of the most interesting people I've ever met." I touched Grissom's hand without thinking. "People think my memory's intimidating. I just have a good recall system. She's the real deal. Fully eidetic. And the speed with which she calls stuff up! Wow." I yawned. "I want to be just like her when I grow up."

His blue eyes sparkled at me, enjoying the snippets of humor in my revelations. He mimicked my pose and asked, "And what did she have to say about the photos, Sara?"

I frowned, my brow pinching crookedly. Just as quick as that, all humor was gone. I looked down at the photos for a second before answering. "She said she believes that they're representative of different forms of divination. Apparently there are multiple rituals that involve the dissection of certain body parts and reading the patterns therein. This one has her heart removed. It's likely the sacrifice was made in search of knowledge and intellect. This one…her liver, is missing. It's called, 'Hepatoscopy'. The removal of the eyes, 'Irismancy',. The beetles tracks, 'Skatharomancy'. The human sacrifice in general is called, 'Anthropomancy'. The reading of the entrails, 'Heiromancy'. This photo shows bones missing in her upper leg and lower ribs. That would be 'Osteomancy'. 'Phrenology' relates to the brain…and as hard as all that is to swallow, I could go on. There are literally hundreds of different forms of these rites mostly involving animals but sometimes expanded to humans alike and it's really over-whelming in so many ways to know that someone is out there doing this to people just to-to-"

Grissom laid a hand over mine and it took me a second to realize how badly it was shaking. I bit my lip, willing it to still and went on. "There's a real coldness to this. It leaps off the photo paper at you. Mariah was very much afraid that we were right and the last victim might already be beyond our help. She said that she wasn't at all surprised that someone who was practicing these kinds of rites would centre them around this time of year. What we know as Halloween is actually celebrated as the Samhain in Pagan circles. It marks the end of the third and final harvest; a day to commune with and remember the dead, and celebrate the eternal cycle of reincarnation. Samhain is the most coveted sabbat by the Wiccan and many Pagan religions. Wiccans feel that on this night the separation between the physical and spiritual realities is its least guarded and its veil the thinnest; when those of necromantic talents can speak with the dead." My lip curled. "However, any true follower of the Wiccan faith would be horrified to see this-these atrocities."

"Why's that?" Matt asked. "I would think it would fit right in with all of their voo-doo, hocus pocus bullshit." Skeptic to the core, Matt's ignorant comment didn't surprise me.

"Matt, it goes against everything they stand for. They believe in bringing harm to none. Their whole faith is based on the interaction between the physical and the metaphysical worlds and promoting harmony and uniformity between the two. They are seekers of peace, beauty and love in all its forms and functions. They would no sooner promote such abhorrent behavior than we would. It's totally against their teachings and beliefs." My cheeks felt hot when I finished my little speech, and I know I was a little emphatic but it was important to me that Matt understood the difference between a true Wiccan follower and this person we were pursuing. His look told me he wasn't buying what I was selling but none of that really mattered. The killer seemed to and that was all there was to it. "Anyway, Mariah said that considering that this was the ninth kill and undoubtedly the most important, so she believed the practitioner would be aiming to get…um…the most bang for her or his buck. She believed that the killer would be trying to focus as much power and control as possible and if the magic user was looking for-for an ultimate kill s-she would look for victim that would allow for the taking of multiple souls and make the sacrifice tonight under the full strength of the moon."

After I said that last bit, I noticed that the room had fallen silent; outside the whirr of machines, no one spoke; no one moved. Allenby, Melissa and Doug had moved in closer so they could follow along but now stood like Grecian statues; their eyes wide with horror, their edges chipped with tragedy.

"Sara," Melissa said, swallowing with some difficulty. "You don't mean what I think you mean?"

Bile rose in my throat. I was hoping I wouldn't have to spell it out but it looked as though it was necessary. "Our next victim might be a woman expecting a child." It was the gentlest way I could have phrased such a terrible thing but it still didn't make it any easier to say…or for that matter to hear.

Matt stood aprubtly, looking green to the gills, and tossed the remainder of his sandwich into the nearest receptacle. "I need a minute," he said over his shoulder as he made tracks for the door. That seemed to be the impetus the others needed to retreat as well and soon it was just Gil and me left behind from our little grouping.

Grissom turned to me, not sure what to make of Matt's strange behavior. "Is he okay?"

Used to Matt and his ways, I nodded. "Matt's a-um-pretty decent guy. A straight arrow who really looks out for the underdog. Sometimes I think he's too decent for this line of work."

"That's…an interesting statement coming from someone your age." There was no mockery in Grissom's words; to the contrary, I felt that there was a prominent, tangible layer of sadness supporting them.

"Yeah, well, what I lose in years I more than make-up for in experience." The caustic response slipped out before I could cancel it and Gil actually flinched when he heard it. I allowed myself a mental groan and quickly let loose a little smirk, trying to pass off my comment as a joke. I doubt he bought it but at least he stopped staring. I hadn't meant to say anything like that, especially not around him but it was done so there was no use in fretting over it. My only excuse was the fact that I hadn't slept in two days and my body was working on overdrive just to keep me upright.

Grissom regarded me cautiously and I could see he wanted me to elaborate but when I didn't he let the comment slide. However, I wasn't totally off the hook. "You're tired," he told me carefully.

There was no point in lying. "Yes. Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm willing to bet that my reserves are deeper than yours at the moment." His voice had lowered to an intimate level drawing my gaze back to his and not letting me look away. My breath caught sharply and I understood in that moment that I hadn't succeeded in fooling him at home either. Apparently, he'd discovered my coping mechanism for the nightmares and, despite the fact that he hadn't brought it up before, had been aware of it for some time. I looked for some sign of censure or reproach but there was nothing but concern swimming in those beautiful blue eyes of his. I watched the emotion swirl in the smoky blue depths, transfixed, barely aware that he'd kept on speaking. "Is there someplace you could catch an hour?"

I blinked, the question not registering. "W-What?"

Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes as he rephrased, "Sleep, Sara. Is there somewhere here you could take a nap?"

Since that suggestion brought up a whole score of other desires none of which having anything to do with sleep I hastened to answer, "Oh-um…no. There's no place here that's um-private enough." I could see he wasn't happy with my response but he didn't argue. "I'll be okay, Gil. I may be physically tired but my mind…I doubt it's going to settle until we get a handle on this."

"It's an extreme case. Are you sure you're up to taking this on?"

"Yes. It's what we do, right?"

"Right," he agreed softly. "Tell me what else you have and then maybe we can put this mess to rest and go back to our weekend."

He was joking of course…at least about us finishing up the case in time to salvage our weekend…but I let the thought of being alone with him slip through my brain a couple of times before I reluctantly let it go and got back into the file. I shoved the photos away unwilling to look at them any longer and pulled out the paper with the equations on it. It took a couple of attempts to get my throat to work properly but when it did I said, "This-um-these equations…We-the Cresslers and I-have a couple of theories about them but until I can play with them a bit and get some more information whatever we come up with amounts to guessing. Here. I don't think you got a chance to look at these earlier." He shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his glasses and slipped them on before accepting the evidence bag. I passed it to him without meeting his eyes. I was trying to be calm and professional but fatigue and thoughts about what I'd rather be doing with him were eating away at my insides in ravenous chunks and the glasses were almost my undoing. In that particular moment, I wanted to kiss him for so many reasons it was all I could do to get a hold of myself and force myself to focus. "There're some obvious things we can take from those numbers."

"Nine strings of numbers with four stanzas in each. One for each victim?" Grissom's voice was low and thoughtful.

"Yes, that's how the Cresslers saw it and after playing with it a bit, I have to agree. We-well, actually I-plugged the numbers from the first section into the first equation below here, the second into the one below it and the last into the third one over here. They hold true with the numbers that are off to the side over here in the last section of the number string…the ones that sit separate from the three sections before it. So the math checks out-we just have to figure out what these numbers represent."

"What made you try putting the first three sections of the number strings into the equations?"

"I don't know really. I was just staring at the paper while the Cresslers were 'discussing' something in minute detail and I began fiddling with the equations in my head; plugging in different values for 'x' and trying to solve them. I tried the first number set in the first sequence and realized my answer was the first number in the fourth section of that line. It was a match so I zipped through the rest and when I came up with repetitive results I interrupted the Cresslers' argument and showed them what I'd done."

"Nice job." Matt's voice near my ear made me jump. I hadn't realized he'd come back into the room. "That's our Sara," Matt told Gil, grinning and giving my shoulders an over-friendly squeeze. He released me quick enough but it was obvious to me that it got Gil's back up all the same. "Do you know she does the morning paper's crossword in ink?" Matt continued on blithely, his hand rubbing the top ridge of my shoulder, not realizing the effect his gesture had had on his audience.

I remember watching Gil's face as he thought about his response before he answered, wondering exactly how much bite he was going to put into the response until his gaze became shuttered. When he finally decided how to answer Matt's question, he said, "Yes. At least when she can beat me to it." The words were simple enough but there was no mistaking the meaning underlying them.

In the process of sitting down in his chair, Matt froze, shooting a strange look in my direction. The possessive ring to Grissom's words seemed to have caught Matt off guard. "Really?" It seemed that despite the fact that he knew that Grissom had been my guest for the weekend, he hadn't yet figured out that we were romantically involved. His eyes shifted back and forth between the two of us, as if trying to get a metal picture of his new impression of our relationship and failing.

Grissom ignored the question and pointed down to the sheet of notations. "You were saying, Sara?"

"Yes. Alright. Um, I was saying that while we may have figured out part of the mystery behind these numerical strings, until we are able to gather more information as to what they represent they're of little use to us." I shrugged. "However, I do have a theory. When I first saw them, they looked a little like coordinates to me and actually, Mariah thinks that the last set of numbers in the lines definitely could be."

Matt was right on top of it. "Coordinates representing…?"

"My first thought was where the killer planned to dump the bodies, but that could be influenced by wishful thinking. If they are the coordinates for that then we'd be a step closer to catching when she makes his final drop."

"But it does make a lot of sense that they would be linked in that way."

"Oh, I know, but they could also represent where she's finding her victims, star locations, kill sites if she's using more than one, stores where she's purchasing materials…okay, so that's a little far fetched but you get my point. I'm nervous about focusing a lot of energy on the possibility that these could lead to the dumpsites without more information to go on. The math was easy; figuring out the rest could take a lot of time we don't have."

Gil pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Sara, I agree with what you're saying about the lack of information but I think you might be onto something with your coordinate idea. Not only that but I may have an idea that might help fill in some of that missing data."

"And that is?"

"Matt and I were talking on the way back to the lab and he was saying that although we know what year and time frame each of the eight bodies were dumped in, we only know the order in which they were found. That doesn't necessarily mean that that was the order in which they were killed."

I nodded eagerly. "You want to do try to do a timeline, right?"

"Exactly."

"Good. I was hoping you would. I happen to believe that it's crucial to know in which order these women were killed but I didn't know if you had enough evidence or information to produce a timeline."

"I have enough bug samples and dirt samples to work with the latest two victims but I won't know about the others until I go through the evidence logs."

"Well at least it's a start." I twisted my chair around so I could see the map with its pushpins. "Even if we manage to figure out a couple of them a pattern might emerge. Oh, which reminds me, Mariah gave me a couple of star charts to use as a reference. She thinks the values in the first three numbers of each line are astrological positions relating to the position of the Great Bear constellation."

"She does? Why is that?" Matt asked.

"Because of their value and the fact that in northern countries, the constellation Great Bear is often called Odin's Wain. She worked out the positioning of that constellation over the last couple of nights and got numbers very close to the first trios of the seventh and eighth number sequences. She said that there was room for error with regard to the killer's experience and reference points so it was worth continuing with the calculations. She plotted the ones she worked out for me on these maps and promised to plot the others but said that they were going to take considerable more time to work out. She'll call me when she finishes."

Matt pushed up from his chair. "Well, looks like we have a plan of action. Grissom, you start in on that timeline. I'll set you up in the layout room down the hall. Sara, you keep going with your research and data entry and I'll see if I can get some people over to some of the specialty stores that carry reference materials and supplies of this nature. There're only a couple of them in town and someone working there might know something about all of this."

"Yeah. That's a really good idea. We might get lucky in that direction," I said, still staring at the map.

"Oh, and by the way, the coroner left a message for me while we were discussing the photos." Matt hunched a little, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Looks like your hunch was right. Not only did he pull three runic tiles from our last victim but he found another three in the other body. I filed a formal request to have the other bodies exhumed but I have little doubt that we'll find more tiles when we do."

A/N: Research for previous and following chapters accredited to the following websites: Wikipedia, TheMagickSprite, Hidden Knowledge, Calendar, Anglo-Saxon Wodensdaeg, and BeyondBelief.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: First off, thank you for being so patient. My work schedule and subsequent illness have made finding time to write a challenge in the extreme. This particular piece is a little complicated logistically and therefore takes much more attention than some of the other stories so when I'm pressed for time it gets pushed back until I can deal with it properly.

Secondly, a word of warning…this particular chapter has some horrific aspects to it, and though I alluded to them in the previous two chapters, I want my readers to be prepared for the graphic nature of this chapter's contents. Thank-you.

_**Adagio**_

Part XVI

I remember staring at the still, blue-tinged figure, trembling so hard on the inside I was sure I would eventually break into little tiny pieces. Though it was by far and away not the first autopsy I'd ever stood in on, it would turn out to be one of the ones that stayed with me for a very long time. Mind you, I wasn't trembling from fear. Razor-like trails of fury were slicing at my insides and I was very much afraid that I would lose the tight grip I had on my emotions before I could gain some privacy to let go.

We'd been too late to save her and even now I can remember the anger that raged through me over the waste and the injustice of it all.

I remember too the room being smothered in a stifling heat. The air conditioner had been broken for several days and despite John Craddock's eminent threat to quit had yet to be fixed. Craddock was a tall man; both intimidating and imposing until he smiled, but those moments were rare and far between. Surliness was his normal protocol and except for the fact that he was probably one of the best pathologists in the state at the current time, I doubt many people would have had the fortitude to stick around to see the 'nicer' side of his persona. The esteemed doctor wiped beads of sweat from his face with linen towels as he bent over his current body of work, muttering illegible under his breath periodically in German about the heat and the odors. The examination room was alive with a myriad of rancid smells; ones that the cold would have deterred but the heat intensified to an unbelievable stench. It would have been funny if the situation had not been so dire.

There was an edginess in everyone's tone; one that had started long before we'd gathered in the hallway to suit up. Lack of sleep and long hours had worn away every pretense of civilization and everyone had a target on their back if they were unlucky enough to be in the way.

I guess what I remember mostly was the lack of human sounds. There were the occasional metallic clanks of instruments against trays and the hiss or hum of equipment, but no one spoke. Even the ME's voice sounded robotic as he recorded the pertinent data of his findings into the overhead microphone. It was uncomfortable in the extreme but then, maybe, that's just the way it should have been. Gloved and masked we all watched with zombie-like focus as John went through his standard paces.

I hate to say it but a lot of the people who do the jobs we do develop a gallows's humor. It isn't meant to be disrespectful or crude (though I'm sure to outsiders it would certainly come off that way) but a coping mechanism of sorts to keep us from losing it every time we see a young kid on the coroner's table or a senseless kill. Normally, we would have been tossing out comments and ribbing each other but this time I think we were all too busy praying…praying that the pathologist wouldn't confirm our worst theories about the latest victim.

John worked his way methodically from head to toe and though every nerve in my body was silently screaming at him to work faster, I knew that I would have to be patient like everyone else. So, I tried to ignore the ugly, jagged slash across the woman's lose, skin-draped abdomen and followed the ME's movements with unnecessary care.

Finally, finally, the examiner moved lower, probing the insertion we were all so fixated on with a dull tool so as not to disturb any trace evidence that could be clinging to the edges of the slit. He studied it from this angle and that, making audio notes about the force and angle of the torn skin and then, he when he was satisfied that he could accomplish nothing else, he lifted a scalpel and pried the folds of skin apart. Seconds later, he flung the scalpel back onto the tray and took a step away. "The sick bastard did it," he spat, his accent striking out the words, looking to each of us in turn. "Killed them both and took the cord." He cursed colourfully in his native tongue and took a few steps away from the table. "That's what you were waiting for me to say, wasn't it? It's what you were all waiting for." When no one answered, he demanded, "Wasn't it?!"

"It's called, 'umbilicomancy,'" I answered, quietly, wishing I could tell him that I was against springing this nasty little surprise on him but had been over-ruled by my superior, for reasons that were still a little unclear to me. "We weren't sure ourselves but it had been suggested that this could be one of the outcomes. There is very little doubt in my mind that this case is connected to the others and yes, we were very much afraid that this was one of the possible outcomes if we were to recover a ninth body."

John stared at me silently but could see that I wasn't the person behind this particular cover-up. He nodded sharply at the conclusion of my words and then went right after Matt. "Dammit, Matt! I mean…just…dammit. What was the point?"

Matt hunched and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Look, it wasn't my call. Take a break. We'll get some coffee and I'll explain what I can."

"Take a break?! I'm in the middle of this woman's stomach!"

"John, I said I'll explain but I'm not going to do it here." Matt turned on his heel and strode out the door without looking back.

John Craddock stood looking down at the body for a moment then angrily peeled his messy latex gloves from his skin, muttering, before exiting.

I watched Matt and John leave, totally confused by the exchange and turned to the remaining man in the room. "What's going on here? This doesn't make any sense."

Gil was looking rather perplexed himself. "I'm not exactly sure, though I think it has something to do with the special circumstances surrounding this case rather than the idea of keeping us out of the loop. I have a feeling, if we're patient, Matt will tell us everything we need to know once we've finished this portion of our investigation."

I nodded in course, but I was far from convinced. Still, since there was no other option, I let the matter drop and turned back to the cold table. "She was so young, Gil."

"Not much younger than you. Early twenties by my estimate. Almost to term too."

"This…this is so wrong."

"True…but when is murder ever right?"

"No philosophy right now, please. I really can't take it." I growled and looked around, wondering what was keeping John and Matt. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to chase after those two and eavesdrop on what they're saying?"

Grissom smirked, watching me pace. "Yes."

"I need to get out of here. I need to do something."

As if in balance to my frenetic movement, he leaned back against the cabinet counter and folded his arms. "You are doing something."

"Oh yeah? What? Wasting time?"

"No," he told me. "Waiting. Sometimes it's the most important thing to do." I must have rolled my eyes or something like that and shook his head. "Sara, we're at a dead end. You know as well as I do that we've got very little to follow through with at this point. We can't do anything else until we finish here. We know that this woman was the last person to be in contact with our killer. We have to hope she can give us something more to work with."

I walked over to his side and mimicked his pose, trying to get a grip on my nerves. "I know that. I do. I just wish…Never mind. Doesn't matter."

"No. Finish the thought."

"Sometimes I wish we worked more with the living than with the dead."

He nodded but added, "Sometimes I wish there was no need for us to work at all."

Just then the door to the lab burst open and John strode briskly to the table. "Sorry about that. I know you need my results. I'll deal with the other aspects of this situation after I finish the autopsy." Frustration was pouring off John in waves but he pulled on a fresh set of gloves and settled back into his routine. The doctor's pace was hurried, in direct contrast to his previous manner but Grissom and I decided not to comment as Craddock quickly picked up where he'd left off. "Since you two seem to have more background on this than I do, it might be more efficient for you to ask any pertinent questions you might have so you can get back to the business of finding this guy."

I glanced at Grissom, wondering if he was as surprised as I that the pathologist was letting us lead his examination rather than the reverse but I wasn't about to argue with John. The sooner we got the information we needed the better. "Well, first off, we have reason to suspect the killer was a woman, not a man, though we haven't any concrete evidence to the contrary. Do you see any reason that a woman would have had difficulty with this particular method of killing?"

"No. Not with the incision itself. Taking the victim in the first place perhaps but not with the cut." He lifted one of the victim's limbs and examined it closely. "She was restrained," he informed us. "The marks are faint but certainly obvious." He moved down to her ankles. "Yes. They're here too, but considering the lightness of depth and colouration I'd be willing to bet that she was heavily sedated. I noticed these puncture marks earlier," he said, rolling her arm so that the joint of her elbow was displayed for our view. "There's very little here that suggests an intense struggle or altercation. I've already sent blood samples to toxicology. I'll notify you if anything shows up."

"Time of death?" Grissom asked.

"By my estimate? Twelve…fourteen hours. Somewhere in there. I'll be able to give you more specifics at the end of my examination," John paused as the door to the lab slammed open, "providing I'm allowed to finish."

My head snapped up so fast, I felt a little dizzy. "What do you mean? Of course you've got to finish. We need answers. Now. Every second we waste means that we're that much farther from finding our killer." When John refused to answer I spun around to confront the person who'd just entered the room. "Matt? What's going on here? Why wouldn't he be allowed to finish?"

Matt shifted from foot to foot, avoiding my gaze by staring the doctor down. "This little matter was supposed to be kept between us, John. You need to step away."

The doctor leaned forward on the table. "Look, why don't you go play your political games somewhere else. I haven't got the time for it and neither do they. This is my lab. You don't have the authority to-"

Matt released a slow breath. "I'm not playing games. I'm following orders, just as you should be."

I shook my head, totally confused. "Orders? From whom?"

"Currently, Sara, I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. Suffice it to say that my hands are tied and this autopsy is at an end."

"You can't be serious!" I turned back to the doctor. "He can't stop you from completing this, can he? I mean, she's obviously a murder victim. We certainly suspect foul play. On what authority can he stop you from continuing?"

"On mine." Once again the lab door had opened, this time admitting two women in expensive, expertly tailored suits, holding their government credentials at eye level for all to see. Both were brunettes but the one who had spoken was a good deal taller and more intimidating than her partner. "I'm Agent Farrow and this is Agent Salizar. As the good doctor was informed a few minutes ago, we are here to claim the bodies as we believe that this victim has a direct tie-in to our current case."

Perplexed, I turned to Matt. "I don't understand. We just made the links between these cases a few days ago." I redirected my comments to the agents. "I hadn't realized anyone else had done the same."

Agent Farrow came closer, and leaned into to examine the body, paying special attention to the victim's face. "I'm not at liberty to go into detail at this time, Miss-"

"Sidle," her partner provided studiously, after joining her at the table.

"Yes, excuse me. Miss Sidle. I can't give you details but I will offer our sincere thanks for your work and for that of the others in this precinct. We had been working this case as primarily a missing person's file and were not aware of the extenuating circumstances surrounding it until we spoke with your supervisor. We appreciate the effort you and your colleagues have made with regard to investigating these instances and I assure you that your cooperation and your discretion in this matter will be amply reflected in my report to your department."

Agent Salizar approached the medical examiner with a polite but disinterested smile and handed him a thick wad of folded documents. "As you will see, doctor, all of the necessary release forms have been filed with your department. Here is a copy set for your records and a contact card with our information on it to forward any further evidence you collected related to this case." Her smiled widened but still didn't reach her eyes. "I believe this concludes our business here today. We have our technicians waiting in the hallway so if you will excuse us, we will require your lab for a few moments while we prepare the bodies for transport." She looked pleasantly around the room at the rest of us letting us know that we were being dismissed just as clearly as she had dismissed Craddock. "If you'll excuse us?"

With little choice in the matter, we all filed out into the hallway, noting that the two white-garbed men waited only long enough for us to leave before hustling into the lab. I opened my mouth to comment as soon as the techs had left but Matt held up a finger.

"Not now, Sara," he told me.

"Alright," I said, my voice little more than a growl. "Not now. But soon."


	17. Chapter 17

Adagio

Part XVII

Though I was determined to get the answers I needed to make sense of everything, the powers that be had other ideas entirely. Just as things were getting heated in the supervisor's office, Matt was called to a hostage situation and there was literally nothing any of us could do but go home and wait until it was resolved.

"Check mate."

"What?"

Grissom plucked my king off the board and wriggled it pointedly before putting it back in its square. My gaze dropped down to the board and a quick glance showed me he had me trapped but good. "Dammit. Okay. That's two for you. Want to go again?"

He shook his head. "Your mind's not in this at all tonight. I mean, we can keep going if you want but-"

"No, it's okay. I suppose we should be thinking of heading to bed anyway. You've got an early flight and I've…I've got work…I think."

He paused in the middle of placing my chess pieces in their leather case and shook his head at me. "Anger is a useless emotion."

I eyed him coolly, not in the mood for lectures. "Don't start. I had enough of that kind of talk from Matt. It was all I could do to restrain myself from shouting earlier when we were in his office. Besides, I'm not angry so much as frustrated."

"Fine, but I think frustration ranks right up there with anger in this case."

"I can't help it. Something's nagging at me and I just…can't let it go."

"Can I help?"

I shrugged. "You probably could if I could figure out exactly what it was. You know, it's just a glitch…just on the edge of my consciousness that I can't quite get a grip on."

"Regarding?"

"The nine victims. Their order of death…the pattern of locations…the equations…I don't know."

"You think you may have stumbled onto the key?"

"Possibly, but I-I-I can't quite see it just yet. Worst of all, I have a nagging suspicion that it's all going to seem a little obvious when I finally figure it out."

"Walk me through it, Sar."

"Okay…all this mystery around our last victim. She's obviously someone important. Or related to someone who is. They were very concerned about protecting her identity. We weren't even allowed to have her name for our records. I don't understand why things were handled so covertly today. It would make more sense if she was the only victim but when you add in the other murders…unless…"

"Yes?"

"Maybe it wasn't the victim they were protecting."

Grissom nodded grimly. "You mean, were protecting the killer? I have to admit it crossed my mind."

"Yet another question for Matt. Anyway, I guess what's bothering me the most is that they took my map…with all of my coloured pushpins."

"Who? The federal agents?"

I nodded. "Yes. They snapped a couple of photos, pulled the pins out and then took the map itself as part of their evidence collection because I'd been using the margins of the map to make notes about our findings for quick reference."

"Well, I noticed they were being very thorough."

I folded my arms, feeling cross and beyond irritable. "Nothing less than what I'd expect, I suppose but I wasn't finished with that map."

"Well, you could always pick up another."

"I may have to. This may drive me insane otherwise. Know any all night map places in the greater San Francisco area?"

"If this were Vegas, I'm sure I could accommodate you because nothing ever closes there but this is your town, not mine and I can't help you. Sorry."

"UGGGHHH! I hate feeling like this."

"I know something that might take you mind off of it for a while." And before I had the presence of mind to reply, his mouth captured mine smoothly in a dark, smoky kiss.

"Wow…that…um…" Unable to find words that would do it justice, I dove for him again.

However, not even battery re-charging, electric sex could keep me distracted for long. Relaxed, replete and tucked securely into the marvelous tangle of my lover's arms, I gave my mind permission to wander. I let it float through the events of the past few days trying to let the images it created come and go at will rather than forcing the thoughts and picking them apart. For the first few moments that seemed to work, and I was able to retrace my steps evenly and thoroughly but then the process was interrupted by an image of the map with its brightly coloured pins and everything came to a halt. Twice more I tried to find that comfortable state of exploration only to be met with the same results.

"You're thinking again," Gil whispered cautiously as if he were unsure about commenting at all.

"I know. Just a second, okay?" I replied softly, narrowing my mental focus and patting his arm absently. I could see the map clearly in my mind's eye now. The intricate lines and colours, the street names, all of it with such perfect clarity that I was half convinced it could materialize right there in front of me. And there were the pins. A blue set for the first three victims, a red set for the second trio and green for the last. I tried to remember the map the way I'd seen it the last time I was working on it. We'd just gotten a call. Another body dumped and found by a passer by. I remembered feeling lethargic and defeated as I selected a green pin and pushed it home before joining the others in getting our equipment and heading out to the site.

_Wait a minute!_

My brain back-tracked to the point where I'd selected a pin to mark the spot where she'd been found. Green seemed wrong. But how could it be? I'd coded the deaths by colour based on their time of death. It was only natural that I pick a green pin to mark the third (and fourth) spot for this set of murders, right?

_Wrong!_

Again, my brain back-tracked. And this time when it took me back to the image of the board, the entire scene drained of colour, leaving behind nothing but black, white and tones of grey. No colours on the map. No colour in the pins. Just nine perfect spots in the shape of a Valknut. "The Knot of the Slain," I said aloud, wondering how the hell I hadn't seen it before. "Oh my god, Gil. There's a pattern."

"In the dump sites?"

"Yes. It's a Valknut. I was so caught up in time-lines and groupings that I missed it entirely. But it's there. I'd bet my life on it."

"Well, it does seem logical considering the other details we've uncovered."

"It's more than logical, Gil. It just might give us the location of our killer or at the very least the place that she believes is the centre of her power. Come on. We need to get back to the station."


	18. Chapter 18

Adagio

Part XVIII

For the most part, our return to the station went mostly unnoticed. There was a brief acknowledgement from the receptionist on duty but no one else paid us much mind. The hostage situation downtown still hadn't been resolved so for the few people on staff who hadn't been called in to help, time was being divided between their regular duties and everyone else's. Nobody had the time to stop and chat.

Gil and I had stopped by a convenience store on the way in and, after searching through a few different versions, had managed to find two maps large enough to plot scene locations. We set up in the same place where the last map had been. Knowing that some of the re-creation of data would have to be from memory, we figured this would be helpful. We unfolded the map we thought would work the best, pinned it to the board and started plotting points.

"See, my mistake in putting all of this together the first time was in assuming that the bodies that were killed together – and by that I mean in the same year – were directly connected. Mind you, I suppose if you want to stretch the point, they are connected as part of the whole diagram but by colour coding them, I actually made it more difficult to see a pattern evolve." I pushed in the last of the nine pins and then took up a ruler and a black felt marker. "Now we play connect the dots." Within seconds I had traced the lines and the Valknut emerged just as I knew it would. "I am right, aren't I Gil? I'm not just superimposing what I want to see on what's there."

Gil propped those beautiful thin rimmed frames on his nose and peered through the lenses of his glasses. He was so non-challant about it I wondered if he even knew what that tiny little action did to my insides. "Even if you were," he said slowly, "it's still a place to start but no…I think you're right. It looks like the killer dumped the bodies as randomly as possible to disguise the configuration but I'd be willing to bet that this is what he or she was working to accomplish." He turned then to look at me straight on and I had to force myself to concentrate extremely hard to verbalize my next thought.

"Alright. Then we're agreed." I pulled my gaze away with a good deal of effort and pointed back to the grid. "Well, then my next question is why? Is the symbol like a trademark or is there a purpose?"

"You said that this symbol was used as a portal…for power or wisdom from Odin himself?"

"Yes," I said, my finger tracing the area in the centre of the Volknut where the three triangles intersected. "So it would make sense that it actually had a purpose rather than just have been created for decorative purposes. It had occurred to me earlier that if someone were trying to use it as a portal then whatever lay in the centre of the Volknut would be of high importance."

"A place of power…or the kill site."

"Exactly."

"What's there?" Grissom asked, leaning in close.

"It's an old district. Lots of specialty shops, warehouses, storage facilities…perfect location for what we'd be looking for…urban renewal projects, commerce ventures, that sort of thing."

"It's a fairly large area."

"Yes. I think that was done deliberately to make it difficult for us to figure out who was behind this until they accomplished what they'd set out to do. Until it was too late." I stared at the map, my mind turning the information this way and that. "You know, the amount of energy and time that has been put into this is just astounding. The equations…the pattern…these triangles are just perfect. We might be dealing with someone who is dillusional, but they are far from stupid." I bit my lip, worrying at it as I looked at the angles inherent in the design. "Gris?"

"Yes?"

"Hand me that straight edge again, will you?"

He did as I asked and passed me a red marker as well, anticipating my next move. "You're going draw lines from the pins to the centre to see how perfectly everything lines up, aren't you?"

"Yes. It might be a waste of time but it could help us narrow things down." A few minutes later, I put the tools back on the side table and frowned at my handy-work. "That's right in the middle of that little shopping district I was telling you about. And it borders the warehouse area too."

The man beside me nodded, his arms folded as he examined the results. "This feels right." He paused, and I could feel his eyes land heavily on my profile. "It's time to call in some back-up, Sar."

"No." There was no thought to my instinctive answer and no hesitation at all.

"Sara-"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean look at what we're doing here. Sneaking around, trying to piece together information by memory. They cleaned us out once, I'm not giving them the opportunity to do it again. Besides, all of this could be just a false alarm…wishful thinking on our part. I mean, we think we see a pattern…we think we may have a place to start looking-"

Though his voice was carefully non-confrontational, I could see that Gil had to work at it. "I don't know who you're trying to convince but since I'm the only one here, you might as well stop. Yes, there is a possibility you could…we could be wrong, but don't stand there and tell me you believe for one minute that you are. Sara, I know you're worried about the federal angle on this case but what choice do you have? My plane leaves in…a

couple of hours. I've got to get back to the lab. You need help on this. Immediately."

Trying to sound just as casual, I held up my hands in a placating manner. "Normally, I'd agree with you. One hundred percent. But Gil, let's face facts here. Something really screwy is going on behind the scenes of this case. Something neither one of us is privy to. I'm not about to risk losing the one possible lead we have in order to-"

"It's not our case anymore, Sara." When I didn't answer him, he took a calming breath and asked, "So what are you going to do?" When I remained silent, he grabbed my arm firmly and turned me to face him. "No. Do you hear me? No."

My eyes flew to his sharply. "I'll be careful. I promise." I tried to step around him but he blocked me.

"How the hell can you promise something like that?"

"Would you lower your voice?" A quick glance at the doorway convinced me that no one had heard his last outburst but that was just dumb luck.

His voice lowered in volume but not intensity. "You're out of your mind."

"No, I'm not. I just want to check things out…see if I can come up with something a little more concrete. If and when I decide that there's something to this, I'll get the rest of the team in on it and we'll make the arrest."

He shook his head, his fingers clutching at my arms reflexively. "Think, Sara, think. Use that remarkable brain of yours and think! Nine victims-"

"Ten!" I broke in stubbornly.

"Fine. Ten victims…all of them female, murdered viciously with not even the faintest clue as to the identity of the killer and you-you want to investigate this new lead on your own?!"

"I am a fully trained, expertly qualified investigator, Gil. I assure you I can handle following up on a lead."

"No, what you are is too stubborn for your own good. That badge has gone to your head. This is not how law enforcement works. There are procedures and teams and guidelines for a reason and those officers who are stupid enough to work outside of those directives often find out too late that there are dire consequences to their actions."

"Do not speak to me as if I were a child or-or-an imbecile. I might be new in this department but I am far from inexperienced in police work in general." His face was a masque of worry and something in my gut twisted into a hard little knot knowing I was responsible for putting it there. I projected the most confident, persuasive tone I could muster and tried to make him see reason. "I know my limitations and I've been exposed to more violence in my life than you've seen in your entire career. My instincts are good. I know when to stick to my guns and I know when to cut my losses and get the hell out of dodge, skills I've honed out of necessity in order to survive. I guarantee you I can handle myself, badge or no badge."

Cold fury tightened the corners of his mouth. "So that's it then. You're determined to go."

"Yes. I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. You'd better get going if you plan on making that flight."

"Stop trying to change the subject. We're not done with this."

"Yes, we are."

"Think again."

"Gil, please, I don't want to spend our last few minutes together fighting. Let's-Let's go back to my apartment. We can collect your things and I'll drive you to the airport." I made to move past him again but he refused to budge and instead pressed forward until I was backed into a chair. "We don't have time for this-" I started but stopped when I saw that the hard edge of temper had finally reached his eyes.

He leaned forward; looming over me with his hands braced on the arms of the chair, effectively caging me in. "Listen closely. Forget flights and suitcases and any of that other crap you were running on with a minute ago. None of that has any bearing on what we're discussing right now. Despite the fact that you've done your best to conceal certain areas of your past that you consider to be less that savory, I have very little doubt that the fact that you survived and grew up to be the amazing person that you are is a miracle in and of itself. It is a testament to your inner strength and intelligence that you have been able to move beyond it. However, no matter how impressive that might seem, there is absolutely no possibility that I am going to blithely climb aboard a plane and let you go off on this little junket on your own. If you are not going to do the sensible, responsible thing and alert the department on your findings then I'm going with you and that is all there is to it."

I gaped at him. "But Gil, your job...Vegas…you said you were needed back there."

"I am. You are making things extremely difficult for me at the moment."

"I'm not the one insisting that you stay," I shot back, fed up with him and his attitude. "I told you I'd be fine."

"You're not getting this are you? I don't have a choice. I can see that you're set on this course. I care about you too much to let you do this alone. If something were to happen…and I wasn't there-"

His voice was booming again and mine followed suit to compete. "Nothing's going to happen! I'm just going to take a look around and ask a few questions-"

"And set yourself up as a target without anyone here the wiser? No damn way. There're only two ways this scenario is going to play, Sara. Either you stop fighting me and let me go with you or I walk into your supervisor's office and tell them everything."

"Mat's not there, remember?" I tossed back.

"I'll wait and what's more, you'll wait too."

"You can't do that, Gil! We need to act quickly or we'll lose this lead just like we've lost everything else."

"Then make your choice."

"This is ridiculous."

"Last chance, Sara."

"Dammit. You know I can't tell them. I can't believe you're being so difficult."

Without warning, he pulled away and strode angrily towards the door. "You think I'm being difficult now? Wait till Matt hears about this."

Panicked, I jumped up from the chair, stopping his exit the only way I could. "Wait! Okay! Okay, Gil. I choose you."


	19. Chapter 19

Adagio

Part XIX

The store front itself was tiny and unimposing. While most of the neighborhood had opted to go with modern, flashy renovations, the owner of this little shop had decided to stay with the original stone work, making it look very quaint and old-fashioned. The bow window sported elegant little signs with scrawling, artistic script bringing attention to several small displays and some of the services offered within.

"_Hayden's Books and Antiquities_," I murmured, reading the overhead sign. "_Unique gifts and articles for the enlightened mind._ This is not exactly what I was expecting."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Grissom returned as quietly. "We're not completely sure that this is the place we're looking for."

"Granted, but I'm fairly certain we can rule out the bank, the supermarket and the drugstore. This one seems like a good place to start."

"I thought the SFPD already ran this place and conducted interviews."

I nodded. "Yes, they did. The morning after I was called into the lab. It was one of several places they visited because of their merchandise or programs. The interviews were by necessity more of a fact finding mission rather than anything more intense because they didn't have anything specific to tie these places to the crimes. Let's face it, the only reason we've ended up here is because it seems to be in the centre of the Volknut. We don't have any direct evidence that this store is connected in any way to the murders."

Gil shaded his eyes with his hands and peered deeply through the glass door. "There's always the possibility that we were led here because the person behind this wanted to misdirect us."

"Yes, that's true if the murderer wanted to keep his or her identity a secret but…I don't know, Gil…there's so much ego evident in everything we've seen so far. The runes stones…the sequence of bodies…it seems to me that this person wants to be acknowledged but believes they are clever enough not to get caught."

"Or is not afraid of getting caught."

My eyebrows rose. "Hadn't thought about it that way."

He leaned in, looking closely at some of the crystals in the sales arrangement nearest to us. "Like you said, there's a lot of ego mixed in with the violence. This killer is on a mission and unfortunately has had a lot of 'success' in reaching his or her goals so far with little or no opposition. I doubt there's any great fear of reprisal."

"And that makes the killer even more dangerous. Right. Okay. Point taken. How do you want to approach this?"

"The sign says the store doesn't open for another two hours. I don't think there's much we can do here but wait." He took a quick scan of the street. "There's a diner over there. We can grab some coffee." He turned to go but I caught his sleeve.

"Wait? That's your best answer?"

His gaze was all knowing and all seeing when it landed on me as if he'd anticipated my reaction. "And what would you suggest? Break in? Take a look around?"

"Exactly."

"Sara!"

"What?"

"I was joking."

"I wasn't." I turned away with the intention of going around to the back of the building. "Hurry up and for both our sakes, lower your voice."

This time it was Gil who hooked my arm. "We can't do this."

"What? Look around?"

"You're not going to tell me that that is all you intend on doing."

"It is…for now."

"Sara-"

I groaned in exasperation. "Well, what do you expect me to do? Wait around for a couple of hours until someone opens shop and then make small talk like a perspective customer? I just finished telling you that that was pretty much all the SFPD could do on the first go round. What good do you think it will do to follow the same pattern?" I transfered my large bag to my other shoulder, wishing I'd thought to leave the huge thing in the car. It was my habit to take it everywhere because I used as much for a briefcase as I did a purse. On this particular day, it was holding the map, some of the research notes I had compiled and not included with the official documentation that the FBI had seized and the information I'd gathered from the Cresslers. I wasn't comfortable letting it out of my sight but in this case it would have been preferable to lock it in the trunk of the car rather than having to tote it while I poked around.

Gil was struggling to keep his tone at a reasonable level. "It would seem like a logical approach under the circumstances-"

I wasn't so concerned about being polite. "Maybe to your mind-"

"Sara, not only are you risking you badge but you could be risking your life. You know the odds we're facing on this case. You know the danger. I don't understand why you can't-"

"No, no you probably don't," I replied, bitterly. I was very angry with myself for letting my emotions get so far out of control but unfortunately there was little I could do about it right then.

Of course, Gil didn't realize my anger was self-directed. He clasped both my elbows, firmly but gently, forcing me to a standstill. "Then help me," he said, simply. "Tell me why you are so driven to push things beyond what is necessary or safe."

I wanted to. In that instant I wanted to open up, to tell him everything I went through as a child, everything good or bad that had happened to me since but...I couldn't. I looked up into his eyes, so caring...so giving...and it frightened me so badly I started to shake. In that moment I knew I loved him so much that there was a really strong possibility that should I lose him I might never be able to recover. I couldn't risk it. I didn't know if he felt the same way. More importantly, I didn't know how he would react. In my mind, revealing my past would change everything (how could it not?) and I just couldn't do that to either of us.

"Can I help you?"

Gil and I jumped; the rough voice behind us startled us quite badly. We both turned to face the man who had asked the question, doing our best to masque our faces with a coating of casual interest. I took a brief glance at Gil and then extended my hand. "Good morning," I said, smiling. "Are you the proprietor?"

There was a brief hesitation before the stranger took my hand but then he gave it the briefest of shakes and let go immediately after. "No, that would be my aunt but I do work here." His face was a study in impatience. It was obvious that he didn't want to be bothered with us at all but couldn't find a way to avoid it.

"Oh, I see." For a moment, I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was distracted by the man's face. There was something slightly familiar about it and my mind was furiously trying to place it. Realizing that the silence between us was stretching uncomfortably, I pulled myself together enough to say something. "We, um," I clasped Gil's hand tightly and leaned into his side, "my husband and I were admiring the fine Shakespeare edition you've got on display." It was the first thing that popped into my head and luckily, sounded plausible enough to work for this situation. "It's our anniversary and I would love to take a closer look but we've only got a short time before our flight leaves and...well, we were disappointed that you weren't open." I tried for a sweet, earnest expression. I'm not sure I succeeded but it didn't really matter. The man's attention flipped to Gil with a directness that was almost rude and I was suddenly cut out of the conversation.

"You collect?" he asked Gil in a way that for all intents and purposes sounded more like a challenge than an inquiry.

"When I can," Gil replied, slipping easily into the role I'd forced him to assume. "I have a modest collection of first editions. Thereau, Hemmingway, Keats...well, the list goes on. I have several first edition singles of the plays but this would be the first of the Sonnets to add to my library."

I blinked, trying not to reveal any of my surprise at how naturally the response had slipped from Gil's tongue. His knowledge of the classics was hardly a shock; heck, I knew from first-hand experience that he had several passages from a multitude of texts committed to memory. No, it was the ease with which Gil had fallen into the lie I'd told. I never would have thought he could considering his shyness with new situations. Mind you, he claims that shyness seemed to be connected mostly to social venues. I've seen his professional manner in full force and there was no awkwardness there at all. Maybe that was the side of his personality that was currently in control.

The stranger's eyes raked us both from head to toe before he turned his back on us and approached the door. With minimal effort, and short, punctuated movements he unlocked the door to the store and let it spring wide as he strode through it without a word to us.

Naturally, despite the manner in which it was delivered, we took that as invitation.

The store smelled of cedar chips and lemon furniture polish. The floors and shelves were aged but obviously meticulously cared for. Every book was lined up, every display artistically centered and creatively intriguing. I turned back to the man who'd let us in and gestured around. "This is just lovely," I gushed. "I've never seen a better organized store." My gaze flitted from one item to the next and I admit I was intrigued by the contents and the set-up. I wandered over to a tiny antique table decked out formally with an ancient-looking tea service made from paper-thin china in miniature form. It sat in what was obviously the children's corner of the store, surrounded by colourful books and pictures and soft toy treasures. Two designer teddy bears in full Victorian garb sat in the chairs next to the table looking for all the world as if they were having a garden tea party on a sunny afternoon. It was positively charming. I leaned in to take a closer look, marveling at the detail on the pinafore and pantaloon sets the bears wore when my gaze landed on something that made my heart race. In the girl bear's lap sat a tiny elegant needlepoint work. Stitched into the fabric, stretched taught between the edges of a miniature embroidery hoops was a tiny Volknut in perfect detail. Not much of a believer in co-coincidence, I swallowed hard, totally floored by the sight. I gestured behind me, urging Gil to come closer. "This is just adorable...honey. Wouldn't your niece just love that tea set."

Puzzled, Gil bent to see what had caught my attention so completely and it didn't take him long to see what it was. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, it would." He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't see a price tag on the tea set."

"That's because it's not for sale. That entire display is from my aunt's personal collection." The salesperson came up behind us and pointed a thick finger to the edge of the little dais on which everything sat. "See...there's a sign."

I made a mew of disappointment. "Oh, that's too bad. I would have loved to have brought one home to her like that."

The man grunted, retreated to the sales desk, dropped his keys and mail on the counter, then left for the back room. "I'll get the keys for the front display," he flung over his shoulder and was gone behind a set of gold curtains.

"Friendly," Gil muttered, hardly making a sound.

"Familiar too," I said, wishing I knew why.

"What do you mean?"

I shook my head. "He reminds me of someone...or maybe he is someone...I knew."

"From where? School? Tamales Bay?"

I shook my head again. "No. I'm fairly certain it was before that. Before I met Lexie."

"From where then?"

"I don't know. I went through so many homes and programs when I was in the system it could be from almost anywhere. It's so hard to tell. Hmmph. I may be totally wrong." I paused for breath, trying to contain my excitement. "So, what do you make of it?" I asked, deliberately being vague in my description in case we were being listened to.

"Very interesting," Gil replied with the same caution, moving to another display, this time a dollhouse in the shape of a medieval castle.

"So how much are we going to read into this?"

His chin jutted forward as he considered. "Not sure yet." He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and propped them on his nose. "I reserve the right to hold off judgement for a little while longer."

I joined him, peering into the incredibly detailed rooms with as much interest as he showed. "Miniatures have always fascinated me, " I told him.

"Ditto. The amount of work that goes into some of the pieces is simply astounding. Just fascinating. Takes an extraordinary mind to be able to transmit such detail to a minute form. Genius-level creativity." He carefully extended a finger, pointing to an intricately worked banner in the Great Hall of the castle on which a shield with a coat of arms was proudly displayed in a place of honor. Once again, in perfect stitches, sat a Volknut, this time the size of pea, almost camouflaged by the other ornamentation that accompanied it.

Gil was about to say something else but the man re-entered at this point and that cut our conversation short. The man strode quickly to the front display and pulled the collection of sonnets gently from its nest of red silk.

"This one is a first addition, in its original dust cover and hand signed by the author of the forward and following text notes. It has a particular significance because of its hand-tipped illustrations and being one of the first books printed by this particular publishing house." He held the book up for closer inspection, pointing out its various attributes as he listed them. "It's in excellent condition and believed to be one of only three copies still in existence world-wide."

Gil held out his hand. "May I?"

With obvious reluctance, the other man passed him the book and practically hovered as Gil gently thumbed through the aged pages.

"What is your asking price, Mr…?" Gil asked, handing the book back.

"Steiger. Edward Steiger," he answered shortly, brushing the spine and dust cover as if they had gathered lint. "And it's not an asking price." He rattled off a number that almost made me gasp. "That's what we've set as the selling point. Firm. My aunt will not entertain any other offers."

Gil nodded easily, accepting the price without any trouble. "Understandable. Like you said it's a superb piece of work. I assume you have all of the necessary paperwork that supports its history and authenticity?"

"Yes," Steiger said shortly. "I can produce all of the documentation you need if you decide to purchase."

"Excellent. I would definitely enjoy having it as part of my collection but I will need a moment to confer with my-my wife."

Mr. Steiger didn't look too terribly impressed by Gil's response but after delivering another grunt, he ambled off to the back room to give us a few moments of privacy.

"You didn't seem too surprised at the price," I said as soon as we were alone.

"Actually, I was expecting higher," Gil returned, quietly. "It really is an excellent edition."

"You sound as if you're considering buying it."

"Let's just say I'm tempted. But that's neither here or there. I will make the purchase if push comes to shove."

"It's so much, Gil. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

He shrugged. "I can handle it."

"At least let me pay for it."

"Absolutely not."

"Think of it as a 'thank-you' for putting up with me for the last couple of days. You've been my knight in shining armor in more ways than one."

He squirmed. "Sara-you don't have to-"

I smiled, liking the way a little blush of red stole into his cheeks. "Hush. I want to. It would be my pleasure to give you something that you'd treasure like that."

"If I decide to take it, we'll see." He leaned in closer and kissed my cheek. "Thank-you." There was a small pause then, each of us lost in each other's eyes for several heartbeats before he finally broke the spell and asked, "Any ideas on why Steiger seems familiar?"

"One," I admitted, shifting my oversized bag to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder, "but I have absolutely nothing to back it up. Just a gut feeling."

"Well?"

"I keep thinking he's about the same age as my brother would have been had he still been alive."

"Brother? You had a brother."

I nodded. "He passed away when I was very young. I don't remember him much but...sometimes, he used to pick me up from school....him and his 'friends'."

"You say it like his companions were anything but."

"He hung around with them but I don't-I didn't get the feeling at the time that he was particularly close to anyone of them." I sighed, frowning. "Like I said, I have nothing to back it up and it was so long ago...but I have a good memory for faces and that's the only place that Steiger seems to fit in, you know?"

"When we get back to the lab, we can do a little digging into-" Gil's words were cut off by the opening of the main door. A strong, tall woman that I immediately assumed to be in her late thirties sailed through the opening with the presence of a queen. A tall, brown-haired, green eyed woman toting a shipping box and a medium sized plant.

"Edward," she called out sternly, "the front door was open. That was totally irresponsible. Anyone could have walked in and robbed us blind...or worse. What on earth were you think-?" She stopped dead in the middle of the floor, having caught sight of us by that time. "I'm sorry," she said, her face professionally blank but her stare hard, "we're not open for business right now. If you'd care to return...?"

I turned to face her directly. "Mr. Steiger was kind enough to let us in early. We have a flight to catch and-"

"I see," the other woman said, mimicking the impatience we'd seen in her nephew earlier. "Edward?! Edward!"

While I admit I was a little at sea with the manner potential customers were dealt with in this particular store, Gil was a step beyond. He was beginning to get irritated. "Look," he said, gesturing with the book, "I had no idea this would be such an imposition. Suddenly this book has lost a great deal of its appeal. If you don't want our business, that's perfectly acceptable to me. We won't take up any more of your time."

The owner took in very little of what Gil was saying, her attention riveted on the book. "Edward!" she called again. "What were you thinking, leaving such a valuable edition unattended-"

Steiger came back into the room at that time, carrying a box of his own in a very unhurried pace. "I was watching on the closed circuit, Selina. There was no cause for alarm."

"I find your casual attitude a little difficult to accept," she told him with a cold twist of her lips, "but I suppose what's done is done." She turned back to address us. "I'm sorry if I sounded a little brisk but we have many valuable items in this store and have had our share of incidents over the years. I tend to take security issues very seriously. This store is my life's work. I admit to being on the over-protective side when it comes to such matters. Please accept my apologies."

Though the words were appropriate...even conciliatory...the manner in which they were delivered struck me as anything but sincere enough to be considered an apology for her previous behavior. It was all I could do to swallow down the retort I wanted to make when she finished. However, in the best interest of the case, I managed a forgiving smile and carefully relieved my 'husband' of the book. "I suppose I can understand your feelings in this regard. I was telling your nephew earlier how much I liked the store and how beautifully kept it was. Now, if we can get down to business, I believed I'd like to purchase this and head out. Our plane will not wait for us." I placed the collection of sonnets on the counter and reached into my bag to find my wallet. I managed to locate it but in the process, dislodged one of the files. To my utter horror, the file upended itself all over the floor, my hand written notes and the photocopies the Cresslers had given me scattered profusely in every direction. "How clumsy of me," I muttered, intent on picking up the various pages with utmost haste, hoping that neither of the attendants had a chance to see what was on them. Gil bent to help. Within in seconds, we'd had the entire mess cleared and back into my purse where it belonged but one glance at the other inhabitants of the store told me they'd seen far too much for our own good.

"Clumsy is hardly the word I would have chosen, my dear," Aunt Selina said in a mild, expressionless tone. Though she hadn't moved an inch, her nephew had taken a position between us and the door. He'd also managed to produce a vicious-looking knife that for all intents and purposes looked to be an enlarged version of a standard switch-blade.

_A/N: Sorry Folks, I know this one has been a long time coming. Hope it was worth the wait_. _As per earlier chapters, this story has plot correlations with 'One in Some Percent' (specifically pertaining to Chapters 13-15), but it's mostly in the form of foreshadowing. Just thought some of you might be curious as to how all this fits in later. Thanks for reading._


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Sorry folks, this is another graphic section, thus the 'M' rating. Please be advised that the situation is about to get a little intense for our dynamic duo.

Adagio

Part XX

I have a vague recollection of waking the first time in what we were to learn later was the basement of a warehouse not far from the bookshop from which Gil and I were abducted.

I remember the cold seeping from the ancient, cracked, cobbled foundation right through the thin blouse and jeans that I was wearing, stiffening my muscles so that even the tiniest of movements was a study in pain.

I remember the pounding in my head, an all too familiar sensation that led me first through a moment of pure panic before I was able to rationalize that my head was aching from new injuries inflicted by Steiger and not the nightmare of memories that had been delivered to me years ago from my birth father.

Unfortunately, the memory that sits crystal clear in my mind even to this day was the look of frustration and anger that poured so heavily from Gil's eyes from where he sat, tied hand and foot to a broken radiator across the room. His face was bruised and swollen. Blood seeped from the corner of his lip but his body was rife with rage as he worked at shredding the fibres of the rope against a rusty nail tip. Every now and then he would look up and around, making sure we were still alone, and then his gaze would land on me and it would change completely. His eyes would soften, slitting into a wincing stare as they traveled over my form, taking inventory of injuries and probably just checking to make sure I was still breathing and then he would go back to working the nail.

He didn't notice me watching him and I'm so grateful for that because it was all I could do to keep it together. Seeing him like that…the expression on his face…hurt more than being struck repeatedly by Steiger as he tried to get information from me. It hurt more than the brutal twisting and grabbing and…the other ways he tried to force me to talk. Memories of Gil shouting at them to stop hurting me still pierced my ears overpowering the ringing I felt buzzing through my head. Steiger's abuse was physical and I'd learned early to separate myself from that kind of pain. Gil's suffering hurt me on an emotional level that I hadn't realized I could still feel.

I wanted to say something…tell him I was alright or something soothing like that but just as quickly as I had come to, I faded out again.

The next awakening was much more clear but unfortunately more intense because the pain had settled in and taken deep root. One trick I had learned from the other incidents I'd experienced of this nature is that it was very important to keep moving as much as possible before the adrenaline and fear left your system. Keep everything loose. I hadn't been able to that here and that was going to make moving now all the more difficult.

Huddled in my primal fetal protection stance, I tried to gather strength to sit up, so I could take a look around but it was beyond me. Rolling over, however, seemed a possibility. I listened for the presence of anyone else in the room and scanned what I could see as best I could from my current position, moving my neck as little as possible. When I was as certain as I could be that Gil and I still had our privacy, I rolled to my back, trying to ease some of the pressure I was feeling in my chest. I soon learned that was a major mistake. Stabbing pain from my lower left side forced me back into my original position, and I was left with a fairly good idea that at least one of my ribs on that side had been broken.

Gil noticed the movement immediately and shifted to his knees so that he could get as close as possible to me. "Sara?!" The whisper was urgent and hopeful all at once and I redoubled my efforts to sit up.

"How long have we been here?"

"Hours. You've been out of it for two. God-your face!" He jerked against his bonds. "Dammit! Dammit!"

"Shhhh…Gil…I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm-I'm okay," I told him with a hiss, choosing this time to bunny up so that my left side was protected as I pushed onto my knees. I stayed there for a moment, eyes closed trying to breathe through the discomfort.

He muttered a short, vicious explicative. "Don't bother lying. We both know differently, but we don't have time for that now. Cards on the table, Sar. Are you able to move? No false bravado."

"Do you mean can I move enough to get out of here?"

"Yes that's exactly what I mean and answer me honestly because we're only going to get one shot at it. I have to know that you'll be able to make it."

In other words, if I said I couldn't, he wouldn't go either. Shit. If I couldn't make it, there was at least a possibility for him to go for help but I had a feeling I would have an incredibly difficult time convincing him to leave me behind while he did. Double shit. I stalled for time. "Where are Selina and Steiger?"

"I don't know exactly but I heard something about preparations. They were fairly open…talking right in front of me. Either they figured I was too out of it to understand what was going on or they simply didn't care." His words were urgent and his delivery rapid fire, anxiety and fear of discovery making him rush through his responses.

I followed suit. "I think it was what you said earlier. They think they're above being caught and their arrogance is starting to rule their judgment. They probably didn't see you as much of a threat." I worked at keeping my breath shallow. Nausea had invaded my body from the moment that I'd rolled the first time and I was fighting a supreme battle not to let it win.

His head dropped. "I didn't put up much of fight. I couldn't."

"Because of me."

He didn't answer me directly. Maybe he didn't feel it needed to be said. "There's that and the fact that they-they figured you'd be out for-well, longer than this. At one point…they thought Steiger had…had…"

It was easy to see what he was getting at so I finished his sentence. "Killed me?" I nodded carefully. If I'd been someone else, unused to rough treatment like that and without the knowledge of how to go loose and absorb some of what he did to me then yes, he might very well have ended me then and there. "Yeah, well. I can understand that," I said, rubbing my neck where Steiger had dug his fingers into my throat. "He was pressing pretty hard and enjoying it too, the sick bastard. What stopped him?

"Selina. She didn't want to waste 'your energy' in a senseless kill. She wants it for herself." His face paled a little as he continued, "They left here, arguing. Over how it's going to be done. Apparently there's a ritual they want to complete but they're lacking some of the supplies. Selina sent her nephew shopping. He was anything but impressed but he didn't fight her. She has some kind of control over him and he does what she says." I know he wanted to rush me but he restrained himself admirably as I measured my progress in the slightest of movements.

"Sweet." I felt a wave of intense fear wash over me followed by an ocean of regret. I lifted my head and looked at him directly for the first time since I woke up and I stuttered, "I'm so…so sorry for this, Gil. I should have listened to you. Told someone where we were going. If I hadn't been so damned-" I slumped with the weight of all that guilt.

"Shhh. Sara….it doesn't matter now. It doesn't. We don't have time for recriminations and apologies. There'll be time to hash all of that out later. I need you to untie me and we need to get the hell out of here. Come on, Sara. You get me out of these ropes and I'll get us out."

I swallowed back every bitter word that wanted to escape and nodded to let him know I would keep trying. "Get out? How?"

He tossed his head at the far corner of the room. "That window. Near as I can tell it's at ground level and it looks big enough for us both to get through. I don't know if it will work but it's the only thing I've been able to come up with."

_Climbing. Reaching. Lifting. Oh my god_. "That's the only way?"

He nodded. "We'll break it out and make a run for it."

"Okay. Okay. Huhhmphh. Good plan," I said aloud but in my head I was thinking something entirely different_. Make a run for it?_ My head was spinning. Staying upright was taking just about all of my concentration. I wasn't sure I was up to an escape like that but things were as desperate as they could be so I really didn't see that we had any other choice. "Give me a sec," I wheezed, working my way to my feet.

"We may not have a second, Sara."

I wonder if Gil had any idea how much effort it took me to take those few short steps to his side and work his ropes free of the knots. I didn't waste the breath to ask. When he was able to climb to his feet, we staggered to the window like two drunken sailors after a three day binge, supporting each other as best as we could. And though I tried to disguise it…worked to keep my body moving and self-sufficient…I sincerely believe that he was very aware of the fact that I had greatly over-estimated my body's capabilities at that particular time. But there was no going back now. We had to keep going.

Crates were piled. A make-shift ladder was climbed, my body working on automatic so that my brain could get past the pain. With great determination we worked at the window, trying to force it open but after a few seconds futile effort, realized that there was no other option but to smash it in.

"If they're still in building, they're bound to hear this, Sara," Gil said, bracing for the impact of the steel pipe he'd liberated from the radiator and the pane of glass. "As soon as I break it wide enough, you climb out-"

I shook my head. "No. You need to go first."

"Sara-"

"No. Shhhh. Listen! This isn't me being self-scrificing or anything stupid like that. I think I have a cracked rib. I don't think I can lift my body weight, balance and drop without doing more damage. I'm going to need you steadying me on the other side in order to get out."

He was nodding before I finished. "Okay. I'll go first and help you through." Steel and glass met, the sound so disturbing and loud I cringed, but it worked. The pane was shattered and Gil swiped the pipe around the frame, dislodging as much of the jagged remains from the opening as he could. He grunted and groaned his way through the opening and then turned for me but before I could get close enough, the door to the room burst open and Steiger was coming at us.

It wasn't so much thought as panic that had me shoving Gil away and pivoting around to face the angry bull of a man who was determined to stop us. I grabbed the only thing that was at hand, the metal pipe and stood my ground, shouting at Gil to run and get help.

"I'm not leaving you!" He shouted back.

"Then we're both dead! Go, Gil. Please! Call the cops."

"Sara-"

"Dammit, just go!" I kicked some pieces of wood free from the top crate and sent them flying at Steiger praying that that would slow him down. And it did, for a couple of seconds, the boards hitting him smack in the face, but it wasn't nearly long enough. In fact, all it seemed to do was make him angrier. I gripped the pipe in one sweaty hand, trying to look menacing while clutching my left side against the pain of my ribs but it didn't scare him.

He cornered me, his grin feral, a jagged gash where the boards had caught him on his foreheard weeping blood into his eyes. "Out of places to run, girlie girl. It's just you and me now. Time to finish what we started." He reached a meaty paw out at me and I struck out with the pipe as hard as I could, hoping to do some serious damage. He howled when the pipe made contact, clutching his hand trying to shake off the bone-numbing blow I'd delivered. "You're dead!" he screamed at me. "You're dead! I'm going to fucking kill your ass!" His other hand landed on my ankle and he yanked hard, toppling us, the crates and the razor sharp shards of glass to the floor.

The floor rushed up at me and I twisted, my hand to hand combat training kicking in without thought and I managed to roll out of it but that was as far as my strength could take me. Though adrenaline was making me shake I tried to play possum, hoping to fool him into thinking I was unconscious again. The element of surprise was the only thing I had left in my arsenal and I intended to use it to deliver at least one more solid hit. I was hoping that if I was lucky enough to disable him, I might be able to hang on long enough for Gil to return with help.

I forced myself not to open my eyes, despite the fact that it was terrifying not being able to see what was he was doing. I let my long hair act like a shield and listened intently, hoping that when I finally decided to move I would be able to do some real damage. I heard him moan as he scraped his limbs against the floor and I braced impact…but he didn't approach me. The movement settled and all became still again.

We lay there, the two of us, unmoving for several minutes, while I carried on an internal debate about whether or not I should get up. Finally, knowing that something was way off, I lifted my head and pushed my hair back from my eyes. It was then that the reason he hadn't moved became crystal clear…as clear as the jagged, bloody shard of glass protruding from his chest.


	21. Chapter 21

Adagio

Part XXI

I don't know how long I sat there, watching him, praying for the strength to pull myself up off the floor. I knew I needed to reconstruct the ladder of boxes Gil and I had used earlier…to make some kind of effort to escape but…there's only so much abuse your body will take before it refuses to obey your orders. I'd used up everything I had to give Gil a chance to escape…to hold off Steiger and there was simply nothing left.

So I sat, my back to the nearest available wall; too weary to move; in too much pain to even try. And I waited. I waited for a rescue…totally disgusted with myself because of it. Believe me, if there had been a way to make myself move I would have found it. I played games in my head…running the gauntlet from encouraging, motivational thoughts, to brutal, nasty recriminations, keeping my eyes glued to Steiger's still form the entire time. I tried to shut my mind of completely…to separate my mental self from my physical one…something that had worked in the past when it was imperative that I hide or run but it was of no use. None of it worked and in the end I decided it wasn't worth the effort. Even had I been able to haul myself up and pile the crates, there was no guarantee that I'd be able to get through the window. No, it was smarter to wait. But that didn't mean I was ready to give in completely. In my lap, hidden from view lay a shard of glass, every bit as lethal and jagged as the one that had ended Steiger. It was my one attempt at self-preservation. I just hoped it would prove to be enough. I sat and I gathered strength and I waited.

It was very reminiscent of the night I had sat in forced vigil at my father's side…the night my mother had taken his life…only then there wasn't this eerie silence to contend with. My mother had ranted relentlessly until the police had come to the door her voice jumping from maniacal whispering to full blown screaming. Her chanting was terrifying, seeming to be without purpose or warning and I remember huddling in the corner, trembling, as she cackled away. I don't remember much about the aftermath of that night but her voice…her voice still preyed on my sub-conscience, often attacking me whenever I'm at my most vulnerable. More than once, her ranting had been the soundtrack my nightmares so I could live with this silence, as heavy as it was. I'd survived the alternative and there was no comparison.

The violence in the air was a tangible force. I could feel it clinging like a sludgy black paste to every surface. I huddled in the tiniest heap I could manage, trying to make myself as small a target as possible so it wouldn't touch me.

And though it felt like hours, I'm sure it was a fraction of that that passed before I felt a new energy in the room. I didn't need to look to see who it was. Her very presence seemed to make the air vibrate. I raised my head from its resting place on my knees, my eyes narrowing to move the double image of her into a solid form.

She was robed in red, the material a heavy silk or satin with Nordic-styled braiding on the edges of the cuffs and hem. Her steps were comprised of a soft shuffle, leisurely paced and very light. She paused when she reached her nephew's body and stretched out a hand before elegantly spreading the fingers and letting her lids fall. After a few moments, her stance relaxed and her lip curled in disgust. "It's gone. Too much time has passed since his heart stopped beating. It's a shame really," she said so casually and commonplace I could hardly believe my ears. "I hate waste." She rolled her shoulders back. "Did you kill him?" When I remained silent, she said, "Don't be afraid to answer. I'm not angry." When I still didn't respond, she continued, "To the contrary, you've done me a huge service. Edward has been…how shall I put this? Difficult. He was beginning to get too greedy for the kill. Was beginning to 'forget' his training and the purpose behind our work, but then, I suppose I shouldn't be so disappointed in him. He is a man, after all. There was a reason my ancestors trusted the passage of higher knowledge to the female side of the populace rather than the male. Men can be so emotional at times, can't they? They tend to become obsessed with the deed itself and lose sight of the big picture…well, no matter." She paused, looking about. "Speaking of males…where is your counterpart?"

"Gone," I told her simply.

"Really?" she said, sounding positively surprised by the revelation. "How very peculiar. I hadn't believed it possible for him to abandon you here. Shows a strength of character I wouldn't have thought he possessed. Amazing. I suppose he went for help?"

I didn't see much point in denying it. "Yes. Of course."

"Of course," she parroted, pushing at Steiger's corpse with the toe of her shoe. Her teeth flashed when she looked back at me with a grin. "Just checking." She came a little closer. "Did you kill him?"

My fist tightened around the glass. "Does it matter?"

She sighed, "Considering that your friend will most likely be barreling through that door any time now, I suppose not. But…I admit that had you answered in the affirmative, I would have been tempted to risk the ceremony. I'm sure the taking of your life-force would have been the highlight of my career. Perhaps it's best that I never know." She saw my instinctive, horrified reaction and laughed. "Surely you're not surprised. I've read through your notes and the articles in the file. You've managed to piece together most of this. It's just poor luck on your part that you've come into this a little too late to be of any good."

I couldn't let that go. I needed to understand. "How can you-what kind of monster are you?"

She shook her head. "Monster? You know better than that. I'm hardly some mythical beast let loose on society, destroying everything in my path. I'm a tad more selective." Apparently, she thought her response was hilarious and had a good chuckle over it. "Look, I don't have time to stand here and monologue like some super villain in a comic book. Suffice it to say that I had certain goals and I did what I needed to do to accomplish them."

"All those innocent women…your own nephew…"

"He was a tool, nothing more. As for the others…well, it wasn't personal. They were a means to an end." Her gaze dropped to my lap, her stare suddenly serious and calculating. "You can relax your hand," she told me. "I have no intention of attacking you and that cut is deep enough already." Her eyes drifted closed. "Ah, I see that the cavalry is here. Time for me to make my exit." She lifted her lids, an almost sleepy lilt to shape of her eyes. "I have a feeling that we were destined to meet, my dear, and that we are destined to do so again. I won't say good-bye. Instead, I'll say, 'till next time'." She turned then, moving in a cloud of red robes to a recessed corner of the room. From my vantage point, it wasn't clear exactly what she did but she gestured and a part of the wall slid away, then she was gone.

A few heartbeats later, there was a rush of feet and a slew of bodies that invaded the room. Weapons were raised and commands were shouted over radios but the display of force was wasted as I was the only one around to appreciate it. As they turned about, I was shocked to discover they had FBI lettering on their jackets rather than the expected SFPD lettering. They were quick to take stock of the scene and I gestured with the shard to the far corner of the room where Selina had slipped away. "She went through there. Some kind of hidden passage way. You might still be able to catch her." Some of the deploy went straight over to investigate while a few others retraced their steps through the door to see if they could head her off that way. The couple of people that remained called for EMS services and a coroner's wagon, sending the message that the building had been secured and the scene was now under their control.

I relaxed, letting the buzz of human traffic flow around me, knowing that they'd be pestering me soon enough for details. A familiar face came into my frame of view. "Agent Salizar. Where's your shadow?"

"Farrow? She's outside, searching the area. She got the short straw." Though the woman in front of me tried to keep her tone light, it was obvious from her stance that she was having a hard time looking at me without letting it get to her. "You don't look good, Miss Sidle."

"I don't feel good, Agent Salizar." I opened my fist and offered the piece of glass to her. "Here, um, would you have someone look after that for me?" Okay, so it was my turn for the weak jokes. Well, it was better than falling apart.

"Yes, I'll check it with your other bags," she quipped back. She gently cupped my hand, holding the palm up to the light. "That looks nasty. Needs stitches."

"Yeah. Self inflicted, I'm afraid." I pulled my hand away and cradled my arm. "Where's Gil?"

"Safe. Chomping at the bit to get in to see you. Almost had to arrest him to keep him out until we were able to secure this place."

That made me grin. "Good for him. Is he okay?"

She shrugged. "In better shape than you. Can't say much else. He won't let anyone attend him until he knows you're alright. They just cleared the building. He should be allowed entry any moment." No sooner were the words out of her mouth but he was there and hobbling towards me.

He reached towards me but then pulled back, his face a strange combination of relief and frustration. "I want to hold you but – I'm afraid to touch you. I don't want to hurt you."

I grabbed at him with my good hand. "I know. I know. I want to hold you too but this is will have to be enough right now. Raincheck?"

"Anytime." He lifted my hand to his lips, his eyes saying more than his words could ever express.

Overwhelmed by the rush of emotions threading me, I gripped his hand tighter. I jutted my chin at the uniformed medics behind him. "Looks like these guys want to give us a once over." I tried to pull my hand away, but he didn't release me. "Gil?"

There was a pause, and I could see him thinking it over, but then he let my hand slip from his. "Okay. Yes. Okay."

He leaned back to sit on his heels but one of the medics said, "You too, Dr. Grissom," and hooked an arm under Gil's elbow to assist him to stand. "Let's head out to the ambulance so I can treat some of those cuts."

Realizing that the medic actually intended for him to leave the warehouse, Gil dug in his heels. "Wait-"

"Relax, Dr. Grissom. Your partner will be joining us as soon as they're certain they can move her without risk. The FBI needs to bring their forensics team in here and we need to clear the area."

He was only half-listening to the medic. "Sara?"

"It's okay, Gil. I'm in good hands. We'll be there soon."

He nodded and let the first medic lead him away.

"Let's see what we're dealing with here," the second medic said, crouching down at my side. He began probing my face with gentle fingers. "You just let me know what hurts."

I glanced at his name tag. "Mr. Stevens?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Everything hurts," I told him dryly and my words made him smile at me with great sympathy.

"Well, let's just assess the damage and I'll give you something to help you out in that area."

I was shaking my head before he finished. "You can't."

"Pardon me?"

"You can't give me anything…other than maybe some aspirin unless what you give me is something strong enough to knock me out. But I won't consent to that unless it's a last resort."

"Allergies?"

"I wish. My system can't handle anesthetics or antihistamines."

"Meaning?" He hadn't paused in his examination and was currently examining my palm.

My jaw was aching now and I replied moving my mouth as little as I could. "I have unpredictable reactions, Mr. Stevens. For the most part…I get high…pretty quickly…and don't come down easily on even the…lightest doses."

"That's not going to make this very easy," he told me, letting go of my hand and continuing the run of his fingers along my body. When his hands met my left side, I hissed sharply. "Not easy at all. I want to get you lying flat but I think it would be better to do it on a gurney so we don't have to move you a second time. We'll leave the discussion of the medication until after I finish my examination."

With the help of a couple of the agents milling about the room, I was half-lifted, half-walked to the lowered stretcher the medics had wheeled into the room upon their arrival and helped to lay flat. A quick adjustment leveled the stretcher to its waist-high position and Stevens resumed his inventory. My body broke out in a cold sweat in the process. "I think I have a broken rib…or two," I muttered, unable to keep from squirming.

Stevens grunted in agreement, having lifted my blouse and taken witness of the bruising there. "Right now, I'm hoping that's all you have. Okay. Let's get you to the hospital. We've got to get some x-rays going here and fast."


	22. Chapter 22

Adagio

Part XXII

The journey out to the ambulance was almost surreal. My head twitched this way and that, trying to take in as many details as possible. There were so many people milling about. I had a really difficult time taking it all in. So many FBI agents doing official tasks, so many reporters and news cameras…so many SFPD officers struggling to keep order. I just…I just had a hard time understanding exactly what was going on and how our little investigation had turned into such a circus. I had a zillion questions but no one to help me fill in the blanks as Gil was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly worried that something very serious was wrong. "Dr. Grissom…where's Dr. Grissom?"

Stevens, in the process of getting me loaded in the back of the ambulance, paused as if noticing for the first time that his partner was not around either. "Let me finish up here and I'll check." He helped maneuver the stretcher and locked it into position then went up to the front of the cab to consult with the driver. He was back within minutes. "They sent him ahead to Saint Francis Memorial for some x-rays and a complete exam. My partner went with him. He was complaining of a very intense headache, double vision and some hearing loss so they didn't want to take any chances." Stevens grinned at me suddenly. "Apparently, he did not go easy into the night."

I groaned. "He must be worried sick but I'm glad they made him go. He got hurt…a few months ago on the job. Severe concussion. I hope it's not-"

Stevens cut me off. "Don't worry. Just a precaution. If they were alarmed they would have taken him to the General. We've sent word that we're on our way. They'll pass it on. You can see him in a few minutes and reassure him in person. Now, normally I'd be giving you a healthy shot of morphine to deal with the pain I know those ribs must be giving you but-"

"I'm okay. I can handle it as long as I don't make any sudden moves."

"Handle it. Yeah. Right. You're still clammy from when we moved you off the floor."

"It's not that bad, honest." Stevens looked ready to argue the point but I wasn't up to a debate. "Thanks for helping me," I said and then closed my eyes so I could doze until we made it to the hospital.

* * * * * *

As it turned out, Gil and I ended up being treated in beds right next to each other but hours elapsed before we had a chance to speak to one another. He was still in x-ray when I was admitted. By the time he'd made it back, I was sent away for the same thing. They were wrapping his knee when I returned and treating several of his cuts and of course, I was next in line for the same thing. While they waited for the film to come back on my ribs, the ER doctor decided that they'd waited long enough to see if my hand could go without stitches. The bleeding had slowed but the gash was really wide and long which, of course, was of some concern. However, it was a busy night and he was needed elsewhere so he called over another physician to take care of the matter while he consulted on a sick child.

The new doctor concurred with the first one's opinion on the treatment for my hand. "I'd prefer to just wrap it but I don't think that that's a wise course of action. Won't take much for it to split open again," the doctor said with a cluck of his tongue. He was holding my hand firmly in his, his finger gently probing the edges of the cut and the tissue surrounding it. "It's difficult with the hand. They're very sensitive, but, well, looks like I don't need to tell you that. You've had stitches in this hand before."

I shrugged, trying to make light of it. "Both actually. I'll be fine."

"Lots of scarring."

"Yes," trying to keep my voice low. "I was a really active child."

The doctor looked up at me sharply and I realized I'd said something I shouldn't. Worse than that, I'd peaked his curiosity. "Is that so?"

Dammit. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with questions about my past, especially with Gil in the next bed listening so I gave him some of the truth, praying he'd be satisfied with that. "The scaring is from an incident in High School. There was an explosion. In the science lab. Kid in one of my classes was messing around with chemicals. It proved to be a fatal mistake in his case. I was lucky. Just my hands and a few minor burns." I pointed out a couple of the places where I'd gotten cut. "Glass," I told him, hoping he'd let the matter drop.

"Glass cuts cleanly. Some of these are jagged and overlapping." He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, eyeing me suspiciously. "The only way scarring like that happens-"

"-is if the tissue has been cut and healed more than once. Yes, I know." I sighed. Figures I would get a doctor who was observant enough to know exactly what he was looking at. Most didn't and would have accepted the explosion story without issue.

He reached for my other hand and after seeing much the same story told by that hand, shook his head. "Nerve damage?"

I took another breath, realizing he wasn't about to let it go. "Yes, probably." I lifted my hand to look at the fresh wound, gently flexing my fingers around it. "It doesn't hurt and I know from experience that the stitches won't be that difficult to get through when you do them."

The doctor nodded, as if he expected to hear just what I told him. He shot a glance in Gil's direction. "I'm willing to listen if you need to talk."

I was so caught up in minimizing the situation that it actually took me a second to figure out what he was hinting at. When I did, my eyes went wide. "You don't think-?"

"My dear, I've seen enough of this sort of thing in the course of my career to know-"

I shook my head emphatically, noting that Gil had tuned into our conversation and was following it very closely. "No, seriously, you don't understand. I mean, you're right…what you're thinking…you're right but it happened when I was a child. He's…that man is my…um…partner. I'm a police officer and so is he. Crime scene investigators if I'm being accurate. We've just come from a crime scene and things got a little rough. That's why we're in the condition we are. Didn't they tell you when we came in?"

The doctor shook his head. "The supervisor just asked me to come over and deal with your hand. I knew you were brought in together because the other doctors have been team treating you but-no, I wasn't told the circumstances behind your injuries."

I nodded my nerves settling into a dull throb. "Okay, well, like I said, you don't understand the whole picture. The explosion in high school-there was an accident and I had to help my step mom…she, my step mother, almost died. There was glass everywhere and when I helped her out of the building I got pieces in my hands in the process. I was seventeen. I assure you that this is the first time I've been to an emergency room in quite a while."

"But that wasn't always the case."

"No."

I'm sure he heard the ring of truth in my answer. "Alright," he said, and began to treat my hand. When he pulled out a needle and thread and began to work them into my skin, Gil practically jumped from his bed to stop him.

"Aren't you going to deaden it first? Use some anesthetic?"

The doctor blinked at him in surprise. "I was told not to, at the patient's request. Her attending physician was very clear on this point. Believe me, I'd prefer to-"

"It's okay, Gil, I'll explain later. I'll be fine. Just rest. This will be over before you know it."

With great reluctance, Gil went back to his bed. It was obvious that he'd was extremely confused and upset by everything he'd witnessed but for the time being was willing to let it go.

"Do you mind if I lie down, doc?" I asked. "They haven't taped my ribs yet and-"

"Oh certainly, certainly. Whatever makes you more comfortable."

Ten minutes later, he was inspecting his sewing and nodding at what he saw. "There. That should help. I'll let them know I've finished and see what progress is being made on those x-rays."

"Thanks, doc." I rolled onto my right side, trying to ease the pressure from my ribs and came face to face with Gil's stare. He was lying on his back but his head was turned determinedly in my direction. Before he could speak, I decided to try to take control of the conversation. "How are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?"

"I have a whopper of a headache but it's easing," he told me. "They say they want to keep me here for another hour or two to make sure I'm alright but they figure I can head home after that. How's the hand?"

"Okay. Stings." Well, to be honest, it hurt more than that but it was manageable. I was suddenly extremely tired. "I'm glad you're okay, Gil. When I found out they'd taken you in ahead of me I was very worried." I yawned mightily, my jaw so stiff, my eyes watered. All this tension and pain was beginning to take its toll. Gil turned his head away from me then, his demeanor brooding as he stared at the ceiling. He grew very still. I couldn't see his face so I had no clue as to what he was thinking exactly, but I knew enough to be certain I didn't want to continue this conversation here. My eyes were getting heavier by the second so I let them drift closed, hoping he'd do the same.

No such luck. "You didn't make a sound."

I couldn't open my eyes. My lids were weighted with exhaustion. "Excuse me?" I murmured.

"He was stitching you up, without anesthetic, and you didn't even flinch."

"He was very gentle," I replied, opening my eyes again. He was still staring at the ceiling, but there was no doubt that his attention was totally focused on me.

"Didn't it hurt?"

"Yes," I told him truthfully.

"Then why didn't you let him give you something?"

"It wasn't that bad." He opened his mouth to probe farther but I stopped him before he could. "Gil, please. I need-I'm tired. Really tired. I'd like to get some rest."

He looked at me then, those beautiful eyes of his dark with questions and fierce with hurt. "Why didn't you tell me, Sara?"

What could I say to that? Only the truth would serve. "Because I didn't want you to know."

"You-you sound almost ashamed of it. Didn't-didn't you think I'd understand?"

"It wasn't that, Gil-look, I don't want to talk about this."

"Sara-there are lots of people who go through things like that-"

"It's in the past, Gil. It's not part of my life anymore so it doesn't matter."

"It does. I can see that it does."

It was my turn to retreat by turning away. "Please, Gil. Please. I can't take any more right now."

"You're right. I'm being selfish. I'm sorry," he said, I know he meant it. "I'll stop for now. Close your eyes and get some rest."

I nodded my head, unable to trust myself to speak, and willed myself into oblivion.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for the amazing comments and feedback. I'm so happy that this work is being so well received. We're into the homestretch on this one and after months of sporadic updates, I can't tell you how happy that makes me. I've been looking forward to these chapters from the first word of this series._

_For those of you who've only read 'Adagio' you may be interested to know that it's really set up as part of a series of works. If you read the complete set you'll find that I've laid out different sections of Sara's backstory throughout. The series runs in the following order: At Seventeen, Adagio, and One in Some Percent. All of this fits well enough within the canon of the show up to where Sara is abducted by the Miniature Killer in Season Seven USA. I've used much of the same background for most of my writings but these works were definitely connected by the same thread. Cobwebs, A Bed of Roses, and my other work in progress, Follow the Leader, continue the set but really diverge from the canon of the show at various points. Still I've tried to hold the characterization true to the circumstances I've set up in these ones. I hope that helps those of you who want a little more detail than Adagio provides._

_Now, enough chatter. On with the story…_

Adagio

Part XXIII

Ten hours would pass before I was given permission to leave the hospital. In the interim, I'd had my ribs taped, the hand with the stitches wrapped and two full bags of IV fluid pumped through me. My stomach had turned…something that both the medical staff and I attributed to the fact that my system had been working overtime, dealing with the pain from my injuries without any relief, and had simply reached its limit. It had happened once before when I'd been brought to the emergency room as a child so it didn't really surprise me that I'd had a recurrence under similar circumstances. The IV fluids helped settle things down and provided me with a much needed boost as food was unfortunately no friend of mine at the time.

I'd also had a brief…very brief…meeting with my supervisor, Matt Lambert. Needless to say he was anything but impressed with my actions. The only thing that saved me from having a strip torn off my side then and there was the fact that we'd managed to break the case and that frankly he was sympathetic enough to my current condition that he realized it wouldn't be a fair match up. "The minute you're released from here and are able to stand on your own two feet, I expect you in my office for debriefing. The FBI is breathing down my neck and I've managed to fend them off out of consideration for your health but there's only so much time I can put them off. They're after someone's head. You two have a lot to answer for." He turned to go then, but ended up pausing after a few steps. "Get better fast," he said gruffly and then he was gone.

I glanced sheepishly at Gil who had improved enough to move from his bed to a chair beside mine. "Well, that went better than I thought it would. Poor Matt. I'm sure the last few hours haven't been easy for him." I frowned then, wincing as the movement pulled my skin. "I have to admit there's much about this that I don't understand either. Gil, how did the FBI get involved so quickly that they were able to aid in our rescue. It was almost as if they were-"

"Mobilized and waiting? Yes. They were. Imagine my surprise when I ran into their undercover corps after climbing out that window. I'll go into the details later but suffice it to say that we stepped on a few toes when we decided to investigate that lead on our own."

"How much trouble did I get us in, Gil?"

"With Matt, I can't say. Depends on how much heat he's getting from the department and the Feds. From the FBI, not as much as you'd think. They are currently sitting in a position of indebtedness to us because of their actions in relation to this operation."

Totally confused, I shook my head. "I'm not following at all."

Some of Gil's control slipped and fury set up camp in his expression. "They used us, Sara. Like bait on a hook, they used us, with criminal disregard for our welfare. There was no need for either of us to have been hurt like we were. If they had acted sooner…Look, a lot of what I need to say to explain this is confidential. I really can't go into it here. As soon as they release us, we'll head down to headquarters and clear all of this up." He leaned over and stroked a light, oh so gentle hand down the side of my cheek. "Matt's right. Heads will roll over this but I can practically guarantee that they won't be ours."

And so it was that I found myself standing in front of a mirror for the first time since everything had gotten so messed up. I'd put off the encounter as long as I could, but having stopped by my apartment so that Gil and could change clothes, there was no putting it off any longer. I'd showered and done every other grooming task I could manage without looking at my reflection buying every bit of time I could. Now, there was nothing for it but to give in and face the music.

You would think that with the mess of contusions and bruises, the first thing I would notice would be the injuries but that wasn't the case. My eyes stood out, so dark and vulnerable that they eclipsed the pale skin and blotched puffy abrasions that surrounded them. I'd seen that expression before…and it terrified me.

Suddenly I was nine years old again, staring at my reflection after yet another visit to the emergency room. My world was dark because after years of abuse my mother had just murdered my father in a drug-induced frenzy. I had no family, no home and no identity because everything I knew in life had been stripped from me in that one violent act of retribution. I was currently a ward of the court; my future…hell, my very existence…in the hands of strangers who looked upon me as another casualty of a broken home. A victim in every sense of the word. I had no identity beyond an identification number on a battered file. I was just another body taking up space in an anonymous bed in a state run home.

I remember the child I was staring at the bruises that painted her face in obscene shades of black and blue and I remember her eyes changing as rage…impassioned and uncontrollable…fought for purchase over the weaker emotions surging through her. I remember that scrawny, awkward, mousey child picking up a heavy wooden hairbrush and flinging it at the mirror with every ounce of strength she possessed, willfully trying to destroy that pathetic, defenseless creature housed in glass. And I remember screaming at the social worker who'd accompanied me to the house to collect my things that I would never be anyone's victim ever again!

She said something then, something that horrified me. She called me a lunatic, told me I was every bit as crazy as my mother and that if I didn't get myself under control immediately that she was going to have them lock me up in the asylum just like they did her.

Those words cut the knees out from under me. I remember collapsing in a heap, shaking…so afraid to say anything just in case she would use it as ammunition to follow through on her threat. It had taken four huge men to drag my mother from my father's lifeless side and she had fought them every step of the way. The thought that the same thing could happen to me…well, I was numb with fear. I felt so betrayed. The social worker had seemed so supportive and so nice. She had been the one who'd taken me to the emergency room. She'd sat with me through the exams and the questions and the endless waiting. In many ways, she'd treated me better than the people who had given birth to me. She had encouraged me to talk to her. Told me I could trust her to be on my side because she was supposed to be there for me and I believed her because I so desperately needed someone to be on my side. But, instead of talking to me…or trying to understand why I might have acted as I had, she did the same thing every other adult in my life had done…she took what little security and strength I had thought I'd found and ripped it out from under me. Looking back as an adult, I know now just how idle her threat was but then…

I remember the expression of impatience on the social worker's face; the pinched look of disgust with which she regarded me and the mess I'd created. I don't know how long we would have stayed there if the officer who'd accompanied us hadn't come in to check on us. The social worker told the policeman that I'd broken the mirror and he gave me a stern lecture on responsibility which I accepted in silence. When he was finished, I remember standing and apologizing for what I'd done. I think I even offered to help clean it up but they told me to leave it and finish collecting what I needed so that we could get back to the shelter. I complied and the matter was dropped…at least in their minds it was. For me, that incident took on a symbolic importance that defined my existence for the next five years of my life.

I learned two important lessons that day.

The first being that in this life, it was hazardous to rely on anyone but yourself to look after your best interests and the second was to keep people…all people…at a distance. If you didn't let them get close to you, they couldn't hurt you. This included letting people know what you were feeling. Emotional outbursts needed to be avoided at all costs. They made you weak and vulnerable, giving others the power to destroy you.

Shattering the mirror was the first…and last…action I performed in anger the entire time I was in foster care. I was still angry…at times I was blind with rage…but I kept it rigidly under control and made sure no one else knew. That very night, after returning to the shelter, I made a vow to myself never to lose control like that again and for all intents and purposes it was a promise I managed to keep.

It was a vow I'd made out of desperation to save my sanity. It was a vow made by a survivor of unspeakable things that ran so deep it fused with every decision I made after that point and shaped my future with its strangling mold.

Rage had destroyed my mother. It had warped her and turned her into something less than human. They'd locked her away. They whispered about her when they thought I couldn't hear them. About how she had no memory of killing her husband. About how she had no sense of who she was. That there were times she didn't even remember that she had a child. There were days in which she was lucid but those were few and far between in the first months after the stabbing. Much of her time in the mental hospital was spent in a medicated fog.

But my mother was weak. She had let the anger consume her. I remember promising myself that I wouldn't make the mistakes she did. I didn't blame her for finally fighting back. No, I blamed her for getting caught and leaving me to fend for myself. Anger could be used as a tool. If handled correctly, it was as powerful as any other motivator. I vowed I would make better use of it than she did…I would use it to rebuild my life. I would use it for protection too. At nine years old I was smart enough to see the value of such a weapon. Unfortunately, I wasn't smart enough to understand how much I stood to lose.

For years I'd existed in that harsh, self imposed prison of my own making. Unable to trust. Unable to love. What few relationships I forged to survive were by necessity shallow and inept. I was on the fast track to erasing myself from existence but honestly had no concept of being that close to the edge. So many people tried to reach me…to save me…only one or two managed to break through the walls I'd built around my heart. There's little doubt in my mind that if they hadn't succeeded, I wouldn't be alive to tell the tale today. What's worse is that no one would have missed me because I made it impossible for people to care.

After years of fighting the world, Lexie had been my salvation. She'd opened her heart and her home to an angry teenager who no one else had wanted and taught me how to live again. She'd given me a fresh start; a chance to be anything I'd dreamed I could be and…and…look how I'd repaid her. The anger was back, as clear and as stark as the first day it had found purchase in my eyes. Things had come full circle. _How in the hell had I let things get so out of hand? Why the hell hadn't I listened to her and stayed to hell away from this life! _I stared hard at the fresh wounds and the brutal marks that defined me in unspeakable terms and burst into tears, knowing that it would break her heart if she were to see me in this condition.

Somewhere in the midst of the gut-wrenching sobs, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sara? Are you-are you okay?"

I gulped back tears, panic at being discovered like this literally spinning me in circles. I'd forgotten that Gil was waiting. That he could hear everything. _Dammit!_ I scrubbed at my face, heedless of the tender skin and choked out, "Y-Yes. Yes. (Cough) Yes, I'm fine. I'll-I'll be out in a minute…okay? And then-then w-we c-can go."

The door knob rattled, then turned and before I could say anything else, he was there. He stood in the threshold, arms akimbo as if he couldn't quite figure out what to do with them, and gazed at me with sympathy that surpassed words. "You don't need to do this," he said, his voice so low I almost couldn't make out the words. "You don't need to hide. You don't need to keep up this-this damnable act…pretending everything's fine and you're some invincible superwoman that's above petty human emotions. Not around me. We're closer than that aren't we?" He reached out a hand, his intention to connect with me, maybe pull me closer and I flinched away without really thinking about it. It was a primal reaction. I was feeling threatened so I retreated. It wasn't intentional. I swear. It wasn't personal. It just happened. But…oh god! The hurt! The hurt that poured from him practically cut me in two.

"I'm s-sorry," I stammered. "I didn't mean it. I didn't…" I gasped, struggling to explain but I was talking to his back because he was walking away and-and I didn't know what to say to stop him. More tears came then, scorching my eyes with their heat but I ignored them, and chased after him, suddenly terrified that I'd hurt him enough to make him leave. "Gil! Gil!" My footsteps hounded his to the living room of my apartment, my hand landing hard on his as he grabbed for his keys off the door side table. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave." I was sobbing now, a quivering mass of anxiety, and I clutched at his hand as if he were a lifeline for a drowning man. "I didn't mean to-I wasn't thinking-I just-I just-" my voice petered off into gasping little hiccups and I waited in agony as the silence lengthened between us.

He closed his eyes, his body slumping in defeat. "I don't know what to do, Sara. About this. About us. I don't know what you need because you won't tell me." He opened his eyes then, accusation high. "I know you're hurting, Sara, and I know it's all tangled up with this part of your past that you're terrified of letting me see. I know it keeps you from sleeping when you're with me and that it's the reason that no matter how close I think we are, there's always this barrier between us that you won't let me pass through. I know it hurts you…that you get headaches and nightmares so terrifying you wake up screaming. I don't know why you're so afraid. Why you try so hard to keep it locked away from me but…" he shook his head, pulling away from me and clenching his fists in pure frustration, "…but it's destroying me, Sara, seeing you struggle with the hold it has on your life. I have-I have a hard enough time with the emotional side of relationships that this second guessing my every move-I'm not sure I'm up to it, no matter how disturbing it is to think of letting you go." He laughed humorlessly at that point. "You know what the hardest part of all of this is?" I shook my head but he wasn't really looking for me to answer. He answered his own question with, "The hardest part of all of this is that I know…I know from what little bits I've been able to piece together…that if I wanted to I could do a little digging and find out everything I need to know about Sara Sidle and her mysterious past."

"Gil, no…no, please don't. Please-"

"Sara…Sara! Relax. I said I could…I didn't say I would. I wouldn't do that to you. I care for you too much and I know that if I were to go digging around without your permission I'd risk our friendship. Honey, that's way too high a price for me to pay for a little piece of mind. No…I decided months ago that I wanted you to come to me…when you were ready…and felt you could trust me enough…and tell me what I needed to know."

This time I was the one who reached out, placing a shaking hand on his heart, feeling it beat against my palm, pounding as hard as my own. "I wish…I wish I could, Gil. It's not personal…I don't think there's anyone in the world I trust as much as you with the exception of perhaps Lexie and Zach. But-but I can't. It's too dark. I barely survived it the first time. I don't know if I can again and," I said, thinking of the last time I saw my mother in the asylum, "I can't risk taking that chance."

Gil's left hand covered mine as it lay against his chest; his right thumbed away the wetness from my cheek. "So where does it leave us?" When I didn't answer right away, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and asked, "Do you love me?"

I nodded, moving forward so that I could hold him in my arms. "I think I've loved you from the first second I met you. I knew I loved you the first time you called me from the airport."

His arms enclosed me gently, a groan of completion wracking his frame. "I'm not foolish enough to believe that love is the answer to all things but I do believe it's a place to start."

"It would be for anyone else, but not for me, Gil." I pulled back so I could face him fully. "There's…there's something in me that's…broken, I guess. Something that I thought I had fixed but…dammit, I'm not explaining this well."

"Keep trying," he said, "please. I'm willing to listen…maybe I can help."

"But that's just it. I'm not sure you can. Not sure anyone can. I'm the one who needs to make the repairs. To figure out the answers for myself. No one else can do this for me. I'm just hoping it's not too late. I've spent so many years hiding from this part of me…and trying to hide it from everyone else that…But I'm going to try, Gil. I'm going to because if I don't I know that there's no future for us. I need some time…to work this out. I know this is a lot to ask but can you be patient?"

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes smoky and unreadable, and then he lowered his head so that his lips met mine. The kiss was so tentative at first that my heart sank, thinking he was delivering a good-bye kiss and that this was the end, But, just as my lips parted to speak, the kiss changed, becoming this seductive, heated, tumultuous thing between us and my heart cried out in joyous relief. My head reeled, my pulse raced, it was everything that was cliché but it was so solid and so real that I knew, I knew, I hadn't lost him.

This time when he reached for his keys, my hand was clasped tightly in his. The last thing he said to me before we left the apartment was, "I've waited all my life to love someone the way I love you. I think you'll find I can be very patient."


	24. Chapter 24

Adagio

Part XXIV

_Don't let this light fade away  
No no no no no  
Don't let me run out of faith  
Be the only man to say  
That you believe, make me believe  
You won't let go  
Adagio_

"What do you mean that there's no trace of her?"

Matt grunted irritably and tossed a manila file in my direction. "See for yourself. There's nothing here!"

"That can't be true. It…It's impossible." My eye scanned the report, practically frothing in indignation. "There had to be something…fingerprints…fibres…something."

"Sara, I can't give you what we didn't find. If there was a woman involved-"

"IF?!"

"Let me finish, Sara. If there was a woman involved, and I'm not exactly disputing your assertion that there was, she is probably one of the cleverest fugitives I've ever come across because she left no trace behind."

"This can't be happening." I got up from the chair and started to pace the miniscule office. Not even the warning twinge from my ribs could stop my anxious steps. "We didn't make her up, Matt."

"I'm not saying you did," Matt ground back at me.

"She was there! She masterminded the whole thing!" I swung about, so furious I wanted to throw something. "She was so callous and vicious and-and just evil! Your team must have missed something."

It was Matt's turn to get defensive. "My team didn't miss anything and you know it. They tore that scene apart, Sara. And so did the FBI's forensic team. Selina Hayden, providing that's her real name, does not exist."

Feeling like I'd stepped into some kind of twilight zone, I zeroed in on my partner in crime. "Gil?"

Gil had picked up the file that I'd ignored and was currently scanning it. "According to this, the only fingerprints present at the the warehouse and at the store belonged to Steiger…oh, and us."

"What about customers?"

"Sara, it says here that the shelves were wiped down with oil recently. They suspect that there might be attainable prints on the books themselves but considered it a misuse of time to pursue that line of investigation because they could be innumerable. They focused their efforts on the door, cash desk, displays and the back rooms of the store and then did a very thorough examination of the warehouse. Either she wore gloves the entire time or…" he ended with a shrug.

"She wasn't wearing gloves when she confronted me in the warehouse," I said, "but that would explain why it took both Steiger and her so long to come back to us after they'd 'questioned' us. They were too busy cleaning up to come back any sooner."

"Well that makes sense except for the fact that Steiger's prints were still over everything," Gil said. "I don't think they had the time to do that thorough a clean up while we were in the warehouse."

I dropped back down into my seat. "She set him up," I replied, not fretting over that detail.

"Her nephew?"

I nodded at Matt. "She saw him more as a tool rather than a human being. Said he was getting too obsessed with the violence of their kills…was drawing away from the 'spiritual' side of things. She seemed very disappointed in his failings." I shuddered, remembering Selina's creepily calm voice. This time when the file was handed to me, I took it, doing a little of my own reading. One line in particular caught my attention. "What's this about a false wall?!"

Matt templed his fingers and leaned on his elbows. "In the corner, behind that wall you say she left through…there was a hidden chamber of sorts. A back room to the main space."

Gil reached over and flipped a page, reading farther. "A back room?"

Matt nodded. "Just your run of the mill chamber of horrors."

"The kill site? Really! There should have been tons of evidence there," I said, standing again to lean over Gil's shoulder so I could see the photos he was now examining. I zeroed in on one photo in particular, stopping Gil before he flipped to another. "There, on the wall…in those jars…are those…oh my god." I turned the next photo myself which yielded a close up view of the jars. "They're…they're in order. Everything that was taken from them…the last…the last one has the umbilical cord from the... Oh my god." I sat down abruptly. "It's like that creepy shop. Everything perfectly in place. All the labels evenly lined up. It's sick. Really, really sick." Some of that gallows humor bubbled up before I could stop it. "Well, I suppose, if one has to be a Viking witch serial killer, one should be tidy."

"Again, this scene was immaculate. The teams didn't find any blood traces beyond what little was in the jars. Plenty of Steiger's prints on the instruments and apparatus and others that we've been able to link to each of the nine…excuse me, ten victims…but that's where it ends." Matt leaned back in his chair, nodded morosely at my expression of disbelief. "I know, Sara. I'm sure I looked much like you did when I read the findings. Most of the people involved felt the same way…well, everyone except the FBI."

"What? What do you mean?" A look passed between Matt and Gil and my jaw set in an irritable frown. "I think it's about time you two let me in on the big picture. I think I've earned it."

Gil snapped the file smartly down on Matt's desk and nodded. "I think I've figured a good deal of this out but since I have an excellent idea of how you're going to take the news, I'll let Matt do the narration."

Matt grunted. "You just want to stay out of the line of fire. Fine. Whatever. Listen, apparently this is not the first series of kills that followed this pattern of time and abductions."

"It's happened before." It wasn't a question. I knew the answer before my supervisor responded and I wasn't really all that surprised. Having a linked file such as this one would certainly merit the attention of the FBI and therefore explain their involvement. "There was another series of murders."

Matt pushed another file forward and waited for us to pull the photos within out of their casing. Pictures attributed to three identically staged rooms sat on Matt's desktop blotter, so similar in design and structure that it took a second, more careful look to make one aware that they were not looking at the same room again and again. "Not here, in San Francisco, but…yes, this pattern presented itself four times in this century that we know of previous to this case; the first linked murder dates back to 1923 in Salem, Massachusetts. From the information we have we believe that this serial killer struck twice in Europe, once in Australia and twice here on American soil."

"1923?" I was already shaking my head. "There's no way it was the same killer. Selina couldn't have been more than…than thirty-five, thirty-six years old, right Gil?"

"Early forties at the most I would guess," he said.

Matt spread his hands. "Well, that's just one of the things that doesn't make a lot of sense about this case. There's more. We knew that the rituals performed in the other series of murders were replicated precisely in our current set but until this round we didn't know that there was a pattern of rituals that was followed for these kills. The victims in the other cases were found out of sync. We knew that there were occult leanings in all cases but our team was the first investigative team able to piece together links for all of the materials left behind in the victims and ascribe a possible theme to them."

"In other words, the other investigators were working blind," Gil muttered, finally closing the file and setting it back on the desk.

"Right," Matt said. "Bodies turned up but there was nothing to link the victims in the first two runs of the series and when they started seeing a pattern in the third, there was no one to pin it on because the killers covered their tracks completely. More importantly, there was no previous link between the victims and these particular kill sites."

"What made the connections this time?" I asked with a frown. "I mean, it's obvious from the pictures that these secrets rooms are a dead give away that the cases are linked."

"According to Assistant Director Markholm, the gentleman in charge of this file, it was pure luck on their end that any connection was made at all. He claims it was all about the timing. The Federal Bureau of Investigation deals with thousands upon thousands of units of information each day. Since the rise of the earliest computers, they have been in a constant battle to keep track of that information-categorize it and use it-so as to make their database as complete and useful a tool as possible. Apparently one of the divisions they have working on archives was using experimental software that allowed files to be transferred via satellite from continent to continent to correlate data and make links between the information. The program linked these files together…on the basis of their similarities and time frames. The archives team wasn't really sure what to do with the computer's output because the last series of kills was in 1962 and there had been nothing remotely similar since. They put it to bed but apparently something pinged somewhere on their radar when we began our investigation and they began following our investigation very closely to see if it would develop in the same fashion. Unfortunately for our victims, all of this attention came too late to do them or us any good. They swooped in after we'd found our last victim, hoping that with everything we'd been able to piece together they could catch the culprit or culprits before they went underground again. Now, here's where I believe luck came into play for us. I mentioned before that it was pure coincidence that we even linked our first two victims…more luck still that forensic work has evolved enough to give us access to information that even five years ago would never have seen the light of day. Another point in our favor was the error on the part of our killers that led us to finding the equations and script at one of the dump sites. Nothing like that had ever been reported in connection with these files. That gave us a framework for research that none of the other teams had had. A further advantage in that we discovered a pattern before the killers had finished their 'work'. We were the first team to be able to properly pinpoint the succession and dates of the murders, and from what Grissom told the FBI when he ran into them after escaping the warehouse, we (…and by that I really mean you two), were the first to discover a pattern in the dumpsites. Not to mention all of the background information we were able to dig up!"

I shook my head in disbelief. "And we were all so frustrated! I honestly felt like a failure when the last victim was being autopsied. A complete and utter failure."

Matt shook his head. "Hardly. Like I said, our investigation provided the FBI with more evidence and leads than any other before it. We did our jobs. Very damn well."

"Then why take it away from us?" I demanded. "If we were on the right track-I mean, look, if I'd been allowed to keep working, I know I would have stumbled on the pattern of the kills sooner. We might have been able to move on that bookstore faster…" I kind of ground to a halt. Gil was staring at me in that…mysterious and other-wordly way he sometimes did and it caught and held my attention. "What, Gil? Spill."

"While I agree with you in principle, Sara, I'm not sure that what you're saying is really true."

It almost made me smile…that hesitant wording he used while disagreeing with me. "I'm listening," I told him, gesturing for him to go on.

"If there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that it's often the deviations or the unexpected things that lead us to places we would never have imagined. In other words, there are times when it doesn't matter how much evidence you gather or how meticulously you study your crime scene, the answers you need just aren't there. If you're lucky, that's when something unexpected comes in-in this case the paper left behind with the quotations or us having to recreate the plot points - and it sets your world on its ears and allows you to explore other avenues of possibilities."

"Wait a minute! Am I really hearing this from Dr. Follow the Evidence or Die Trying Grissom? This doesn't jive at all with your mantra."

"Sara, it is about the evidence. Seriously. It is. Because when it comes to convictions, if we can't prove our theories well, then, we're nowhere. But what I'm trying to say…and rather ineptly it seems, is that sometimes the unexpected has a habit of leading us to new ways of thinking. Obstacles can sometimes be blessings in disguise."

"Is that a nice way of saying that you don't think I would have been able to put the pieces together without the FBI interference? I thought you gave me a little more credit than that."

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. In this particular case, I happen to believe you would have come to the same conclusions that you did…eventually. What I am saying is that maybe your anger and frustration worked to your advantage. It forced you to think about the case in a different manner. Reconstructing our materials and re-plotting our evidence lines helped you focus because you had to do it from scratch. There is the remote possibility that had we been left to our own devices it may have taken us…you…longer to solve the puzzle."

My eyebrow arched. "I don't know, Doc. That's a bit of a stretch, even for a theoretical physicist like me, but I do see what you're getting at. It's the old theorem, right? Change one thing…risk changing everything."

Gil nodded. "Exactly." He leaned back in his chair and then started, as if suddenly remembering that we weren't exactly alone. "Sorry, Matt. I guess I got carried away."

Matt's expression was a cross somewhere between fascination and disbelief. I suppose I could understand his astonishment. It wasn't every day that two investigators went from being ready to tear him a new one to having an in-depth philosophical debate in a matter of seconds. "No problem. I'm just glad you two got that settled. Can we get back to the case now?"

Propping my head on my head I turned to Gil and muttered sweetly, "That's Matt's passive aggressive way of saying 'shut up so we can get on with HIS agenda', right Matt?"

"You know, you're a real smart ass, Sidle."

"Thanks Matt. I take that as a compliment."

"You would," he huffed. "Anyway, from what I understand about the matter, the quality of our investigation and our progress had little to do with letting the case remain in our hands. They believed, and rightly so, that to leave it in our jurisdiction was bound to attract way too much attention and publicity than they felt was beneficial to solving the crimes. The SFPD is simply too high profile. They wanted the killers to relax. To think that they'd gotten away with their crimes. Nothing had really hit the media yet but the Feds knew it was only a matter of time before these murders became front page news. It was all about containment."

Reluctantly, I found myself agreeing with that opinion. "Well, if that was the true reason behind their intervention then I suppose they had a point. That circus of reporters we had to wade through downstairs is evidence of that. Did you see the headlines today?"

"Yes," Matt replied. "They've already got a nickname for Steiger."

"Ya. The Bloody Sunday Rapist. Not exactly apt but horrifying all the same." My lip was curled with distaste.

"Well, considering that the only details that have been released deal primarily with Steiger and what we can _prove_ his involvement entailed, I would have to say it was apt," Matt replied.

"Yes," Gil said, "I noticed that the spiritual aspect of the case was being concealed completely and nowhere does it mention that he had an accomplice."

"Again, the FBI is insisting that as much of the case details as possible…especially those that reference Selina Hayden's involvement, remain on a need to know basis. They still have hope that she may try to pick up where she left off and therefore fall into their hands."

"Okay, well that explains a great deal but I still have one burning question and this probably has to come from Gil. You mentioned before that you felt the FBI owed us and you forced me to wait for an explanation until we saw Matt. I also know you were livid when you returned to the warehouse, so my curiosity is definitely peaked. Here we are. I can't wait to hear this part." As I spoke, colour painted the planes of Gil's cheeks. I could literally see the anger climbing from within, and by the time I had finished speaking it was pouring off him in waves. Wow. Whatever it was that he'd been holding onto was pretty big.

Gil took a sip of coffee…that surely must have been ice cold by that time…and then placed the mug back on the desk with intense precision. "We were used, Sara. Used and almost killed because the FBI decided to play god with our lives in order to break this case."


	25. Chapter 25

Adagio

Part XXV

_I don't know where to find you  
I don't know how to reach you  
I hear your voice in the wind  
I feel you under my skin  
Within my heart and my soul  
I wait for you  
Adagio__  
_

"How can this be, Gil? How could the FBI use us like bait? That would imply that they knew we were going to figure things out and end up at Hayden's Bookstore that morning and that just doesn't make sense."

"Sara – no, no you're right in saying that they had no fore knowledge of our intentions but that doesn't mean that they didn't act on their own accord and take extreme advantage of the opportunity we presented them." Gil took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Not that it should really surprise us in any regard. From the few dealings I've had with them it's been obvious…at least to me…that when they formulate an agenda, they tend to use whatever tools necessary to bring it to fruition regardless of who gets hurt in the process." Shadows…deep, haunted, shadows etched his face and though I wanted to follow up his statement with a few questions, instinct told me that it would be too personal a conversation to have in our present circumstances so I stuck to the matter at hand.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, forcing my mouth to move, "I'm still not really following this."

"Fine. Let me explain," Matt broke in when Gil failed to respond quickly enough. "According to the information the FBI has deigned to share with us, it hadn't taken them long to figure out the dumpsites were in the pattern of a Volknut. They tried to be as proactive with their information as they could be under the circumstances. They set up two-men team stakeouts in the three most

'logical' places of interest that lay within the pattern on the map (Hayden's Bookstore being one of them) and monitored the goings – on in hope that they would witness enough criminal activity to give them just cause to act."

"In other words, we stepped on their investigation."

"And then some," Matt said, "though how you would have known anything about it is still to be determined. We've had no contact with them, information or otherwise, since they removed the documents form the lab so even if you had have cleared your intentions with me – as you should have done, seeing as I'm your immediate supervisor and ultimately the person responsible for the mess you landed yourself in…not to mention your personal safety-"

"Yes, Matt, we should have cleared it with you. Yes, Matt, we should have been more cautious. Yes, Matt, I will take full responsibility because I forced Gil's hand in going along with me."

"I'm not taking this lightly, Sara. We have regulations for a reason. The safety of our officers and investigators are prime among them," Matt threw back sternly."

"Sounds familiar," Gil muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear him.

"I suppose I deserve that," I groused, "from BOTH of you."

"That and two week's suspension – no pay," Matt told me, "effective immediately. But out of consideration for the fact that you helped bring a dangerous criminal to justice it will appear on your record as a medical leave for recovery providing you don't give me any grief about it."

My mouth snapped shut. The argument I'd been in the process of forming dying an abrupt death. In so many ways, I'd gotten off lightly…at least as far as the SFPD was concerned. Better to give in gracefully and take my lumps. "Thanks, Matt," I managed in a tone meek enough to appease him. "So…back to the FBI…how come they're not breathing hellfire and brimstone at us for botching things?"

Grissom answered this time. "Because, simply put, it wouldn't have been an issue for them to have intervened the minute we showed up at the bookstore. They'd recognized us on sight and probably had a good idea as to why we ended up where we were. After all, as Matt said, we brought this case further than it's been in almost one hundred years."

"But they didn't, did they?" I asked. "They let us walk into a potentially dangerous situation-" I paused, thinking the next part through, "-to see what information we were able to come up with?"

"Precisely," Gil growled. "They thought they had things under control and that they'd be able to respond at the first sign of trouble…but they were wrong."

Gil grew silent then, letting me piece it together for myself and suddenly I knew where everything had fallen apart. "The underground tunnel."

"Right," Gil replied. "Apparently, they had suspected that if Steiger and Hayden were the ones behind the murders, they did their killing in the basement or maybe the attic of the same building the bookstore was in. Or, if it was offsite, that they would get a chance to intervene as we were transported to a new location. So when the killers 'escorted' us to the basement, they began to move in…only to find that we'd pretty much disappeared into thin air."

"A gross miscalculation that nearly cost you both your lives." Matt's cheeks were burning with anger just as brightly as Gil's as he put in that last.

The office grew silent then…so quiet I could actually hear the creaking of the ancient fan that circled the ceiling endlessly above Matt's desk. Each of us was busy with our personal sets of, "Could-haves' and 'Should-haves' and there was more than enough to go around…with the lion's share settling on my shoulders. "So…that means that the first clue they had regarding our location in the warehouse came from you, after you escaped through the window."

"Yes. Yes. I'm not familiar with that area of San Francisco. The only thing I knew for sure is that we still had to be relatively close to the bookstore because it hadn't taken us long to transverse the underground passage we took earlier. I worked my way back to the main street as quickly as I possibly could but I'm sure fifteen minutes passed before I found the right one and then, what with being cautious and worried about you…well, twenty-five, at least."

I reached over, linking hands, knowing he was still beating himself up over leaving me behind. "Gil, I'm here today because you did the right thing…the courageous thing…"

"Sara…really, I can't hear that right now. I understand it-mentally…I do…but not where it counts." He squeezed my hand gently in return but couldn't look at me just then. When he started to speak again, his voice was rough with strangled emotions. "I-I was looking for a phone…to call for back-up, when two agents appeared out of nowhere and hustled me into one of their unmarked sedans. I was questioned…interrogated, really, for several minutes while other members of their team were called in for back-up and did reconnaissance."

I allowed myself a tiny, supportive smile. "I hear that you were not in the most cooperative moods during that process."

He shrugged aggressively. "My immediate goals and theirs were in conflict. They're lucky I didn't take someone's head off altogether." He stood abruptly. "Excuse me. I need some air."

I stared after him, so concerned and so guilty. "He's keeping so much of this inside. I've never seen him this upset."

Matt twirled a pencil on his desk. "I think that maybe he has the right idea. We've been at this for some time and I can see it's taking a toll. We should take a break too. Coffee?"

"Yes, okay, but not the stuff here."

"I'd suggest Miller's deli but I don't think you're in any condition to hike it to our supplier of choice." He had a point. Miller's was a favorite among the people who worked in this area but I wasn't up to a four block walk. "We could go down to the bistro," he continued. "It's only a few steps away. Some air might do us some good too."

"You may be right." I made to get up but he came around his desk to assist me before I could. "Thanks," I said and then moved away from his side. "Let me just leave a note as to where we are so Gil doesn't worry." I scribbled a description and left it on Gil's abandoned chair with a promise to bring him back a coffee too and then walked out with Matt.

We didn't say much in the elevator or on the half-block walk to the tiny bistro but after we'd made our order and got our cups, Matt turned to me and said, "Maybe this was too much too soon. Your colour looks a little off, Sara."

Not really wanting to admit he was right but more than aware that he was, I hedged, "I'm okay, but maybe we should take a minute or two over on that park bench."

He agreed readily enough but when we got settled he asked, "Are you in pain?"

"A little."

"Do you need medication?"

I shook my head. "They gave me some but I can't take it here. It'll put me right out and I'm not sure you could manage carrying me and this really great coffee back to the station." It was a joke but he didn't laugh with me. "I'm fine, Matt. Just give me a couple of minutes and we'll head back." I had no more completed the sentence when a thought made me stand up again. "Oh…shoot…maybe we should call Gil. You know, so he doesn't worry."

"You left a note," Matt reminded me.

I nodded. "Yes, but-um-he's a little overprotective of me right now. And really, he's not in much better shape than I am-"

"I'm sure he'll understand. Sit. Sara, sit before you fall down."

I did as I was told, but that didn't mean that I was happy about it. "Okay. But if he's upset I'm going to blame you."

Matt grinned. "Then maybe we should head back. I hear he's got a short fuse when it comes to your welfare."

Puzzled I turned to face Matt directly. "Excuse me?"

"The FBI…Agent Salizar had her hands full dealing with him when they intercepted him after he escaped from the warehouse."

"Oh, right. She mentioned something about that when she found me." I chuckled. "Personally, I would have liked to have seen him in action. I still find it hard to believe he was so difficult to deal with. He has a reputation of being a master of his emotions but I always suspected there was a bubbling pool of lava just waiting to explode from that volcano of calm."

"You two know each other very well, don't you? I mean, I knew you were friends but I didn't realize how intimate you were. In fact, I'm not sure anyone did until you two were caught up in that warehouse incident. Kind of shocked the hell out of everyone, in fact." Matt squirmed a little in his seat at my pointed look. "Wait, I didn't mean it that way. Okay, well, maybe I did. We knew you were close but most of us…didn't know you were a couple. Kind of came at us from left field if you get my meaning."

"I think I'm beginning to but I'm trying figure out the reason behind this little trip into my personal life," I told him.

"Like I said, it took us by surprise. Grissom's not exactly unknown in our circles. He has quite an impressive reputation and let's face it, tales of his case studies and professional accomplishments are sort of legendary. Not to mention his quirks. Everybody has them…quirks, I mean…ways of doing things but Grissom seems to be in a class by himself."

I started to relax. This part of the conversation seemed a lot less personal and it was easy to explain my professional connection with Gil. "Well, that's the first thing you've said that I'm totally on board with. He is in a class by himself. I doubt that there's another scientist in the forensics field that looks at cases the way he does. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to call on his expertise when I need it and I know I'm a better investigator because I've been able to draw on his wealth of experience and insight."

"I'm not trying to pry but…from everything I've heard about Dr. Gilbert Grissom, you seem to be one of the few people who actually has an emotional connection-okay, that didn't come out right either-"

"Matt. It's okay. It's not really like it's a big secret or anything. Yes, we're close. We're very, very good friends, have been for a while now and we-we are intimate. I'm probably closer to him than anyone else in my life outside my parents. We're just…both very private people and we tend to keep that side of our relationship to ourselves. Probably because we're not exactly sure if we're going to be able to take it to the next level. Our friendship is extremely important to us…so much so that we're reluctant to let anything that might threaten it consume us, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah…yes, I think I do. Guess that means my chances are slim to none where you're concerned," he joked with an easy smile, but I could see the tinge of serious lining the edges.

"Seems so," I said gently, smiling back. "I am definitely otherwise engaged at the moment." I was thinking that Matt would let it drop at that but I could see there was more he wanted to say. "What?"

The former football star shifted and leaned in bracing his elbows on his desk. He stared at me for a minute then finally said, "I'm sorry. I just don't get it."

"It?"

"The attraction. Between you." I didn't think it was possible but Matt suddenly grew more uncomfortable. "I mean, you're you and he's-I just don't see it."

I suppose the proper thing would have been not to answer except to say that it was okay that Matt didn't understand but something about his tone irked me enough to want to defend Gil. "Gilbert Grissom is a wonderful person. He's brilliant, trust-worthy, loyal, funny…not to mention cute as hell-"

Matt nodded, heading me off. "And I see all that…great qualities for a friend. But Sara, don't you think he's a little…weird."

"Weird? What? How?"

"Look, Sara, from everything I've heard, he's the ultimate geek. He's obsessive about his work. Has no social life to speak of. Reclusive. You know…at the Vegas lab…they call him, "Gruesome Grissom"? Hell, someone told me he eats bugs for cripes sake! You deserve better than that. You do. Don't get me wrong. Grissom's an amazing CSI and I can understand the 'hero worship' aspect of this I suppose, but he's hardly someone I could see you wasting your time with."

I honestly didn't know what part of that ridiculous statement to tackle first. "Wasting my time?!"

Matt continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And really, don't you think he's a little…?"

"A little…?"

"Mature for you?"

My firmed to a brittle line. "Is that a polite way to say, 'old', Matt?"

His eyes flashed. "I was trying to be nice."

My temper sparked. "Life's too short, Matt. Cut to the chase."

"Fine. You want it plain, you got it. The age gap between you is large."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you, but since we've started, his age and the difference between his and mine doesn't factor in at all."

"I find that hard to believe," he scoffed.

"Seriously, it doesn't."

"Not now," he tossed back. "But wait…it will."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You could do so much better."

_So could Grissom_, my insecure little alter ego muttered inside my head but Matt had no idea of the inner workings of my mind and I was hardly about to enlighten him. "Oh, really, and I suppose you think you know me well enough to make an arrogant statement such as that?"

"Maybe not, but I know what's being said around the station about the two of you and none of it's good." When I didn't respond to that, he stumbled on, "Don't you want to know what they're saying behind your back?"

Well, of course I did but I wasn't foolish enough to leave myself vulnerable to yet another attack. I'd had more than enough of that for one morning. I stood on shaky legs. "I think I've rested enough. It's time to head back to the station." I didn't wait for Matt to respond but simply started walking back to the lab. Matt was quick enough to follow suit and actually stepped right into my path to stop me.

"Look, Sara, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I just-I can't explain it and I can't excuse it. I got carried away. I like you and I've had a hard time dealing with this."

I drew in a cleansing breath and tried to be the bigger person but frankly, failed miserably. "It's fine," I told him, and we both knew how not 'fine' it was but there was nothing to do to fix it just then so we both decided to let it drop.

Matt escorted me back to the station, his professional reserve back in place as if it had never slipped at all. Even tried to a couple of times to engage me in small-talk but I was too pissed off to take him up on it. Sheer strength of will kept my feet moving and my eyes straight ahead. I couldn't look at him for fear I would say something that would no doubt make matters even worse.

Mind you, it was a shame that I didn't have the courage to face him down and really let him know how badly he'd insulted me because…if I had…I might have seen the Gil-shaped shadow that lingered not too far from the bench which Matt and I had occupied not too many minutes ago…and that dear friends might have saved me years of heartache and self-doubt.

The End.

_A/N: Okay…wait…before you get out the pitchforks and other mob paraphernalia, I know an explanation is due. Just as in "At Seventeen", I felt that this was the right place to end this one because the next part of the story deserves to be featured on its own. However, unlike "At Seventeen", I guarantee I'll be starting the new novella, "Intermezzo" directly; in fact, I've already got the first few words typed in, so I will not be leaving you hanging. I'm sure you're just as curious as I am to find out how this love affair turned into the tortured relationship that Sara and Grissom shared through most of their time in Vegas and the year or so previous. So, with that tantalizing (I hope) piece of bait dangling before you, I bid you goodnight and farewell until we meet again. Axx_


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